


Haunted House

by GutsButt, Naela



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: AbsoluteControlShipping - Freeform, Ghost Relationship, Haunted House, M/M, Mild Cursing, be nice to the ghost that haunts your house bc they might actually be cute, more tags added later oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-08-08 18:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16434518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutsButt/pseuds/GutsButt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naela/pseuds/Naela
Summary: A new house always comes with challenges. However for a man like Giovanni, he's sure that he can overcome any obstacle placed in his path. Too bad his new housemate is exactly the same way.Too bad one of them has the advantage of being invisible, and for the record that person is not Giovanni.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with Rocketbcss on tumblr! GO GIVE HER SOME LOVE!!!

Again. Another person brave enough to try to destroy his peace. Boxes soon line the walls of the home he has lived in for too many years. Dropped off one by one and tucked away so that when the furniture finally comes in, the movers have ample space to navigate their way through the house.

 

This time instead of a family with three kids and a dog or a newly wed couple with bright eyes and dreams that are as equally bright for a future together, the new disturbance is a man. In his forties, dressed sharply as though he’d stepped out of a boardroom meeting and looking as though he were ready to direct armies rather than the few labourers toiling away to fit his oversized mahogany table into the dining room.

 

Cyrus decides that he already doesn’t like this man.

 

But at least there’s no small yappy dog.

 

Instead this man owns a persian. The creature stares at him whenever he’s in the room, his new housemate always asking the cat what’s wrong. Sometimes he thinks that this intruder is somehow aware of his presence too. It’s an observation worth testing.

 

He hates this man.

 

Not even two days later and he realizes this. He could have peace and quiet if his companion was only the cat but whenever this new “roommate” is home he is always on the phone. He learns eventually that this man is called Giovanni and that he’s a gym leader, which still doesn’t explain how he has so much free time that he never seems to leave the house. But his routine is nearly the same. Every morning he wakes up past noon, makes a sad attempt at breakfast-lunch and then putters about all day, his phone in one hand and the persian trailing behind.

 

He allows this, for a week. After the seventh day, he goes into Giovanni’s room to undo this horrible pattern. So much time wasted. It’s deplorable. How can one man have nothing to do? Rumbling snores guide him towards his target. And that is when he learns of how the man sleeps. Or rather, what he does not sleep in. Which is nothing. Nothing at all.

 

After that, Cyrus makes a point of being in the opposite corner of the house from wherever Giovanni is, but it raises a question he’s never pondered: is it possible for someone who’s already dead to go insane?

 

After a week though, he can no longer allow this atrocious sleeping schedule in _his_ house. For a second time since Giovanni has intruded into his sanctuary, he floats into the bedroom, this time unsurprised by the man’s lack of dress. Giovanni sleeps, spread eagled in the middle of the bed. No wonder he’s alone.

 

He just stands there at the end of the bed, trying to think of a way to wake Giovanni up. His concept of time is the constant snoring coming from his new housemate. Even in sleep he’s noisy. A disturbance.

 

Persian opens a lazy eye only to see him and bristle, quickly scurrying from the room. Without the warmth of his pokemon, Giovanni mumbles in his sleep and turns over, sliding a hand over the empty spot where his pet once was. Giovanni curls in on himself, probably feeling the consequences of Cyrus being in the room.

 

There’s his idea.

 

Cyrus slides a finger up Giovanni’s exposed back. It should be amazing how fast the man jerks awake if not for how Giovanni collides into and then _through_ him, fingers clawing into the sheets, shivering and cursing about what could possibly be wrong with him. Cyrus is left feeling sick, it’s horribly disorienting to be phased through.

 

But at least he’s accomplished his objective. Giovanni is up, still shivering and with his blankets pulled tight around him and for a quick moment, less than a second, the man looks straight at him. There’s only the briefest flicker of awareness and Cyrus freezes. Does he see him? Does Giovanni know that he’s there?

 

And then those eyes are looking elsewhere. Cyrus once again reminding himself that he’s been invisible for… he doesn’t know how long. It feels like forever. However nothing has really changed about the world he’s seen enter his home. The people stupid enough to brave the warnings and intrude upon his space aren’t any more different than how he remembers them, the clothes aren’t any different, the way they act hasn’t changed. Really it’s more of the same. Even the same technologies becoming thinner and faster.

 

Giovanni doesn’t leave the sanctuary of his blankets that day, taking them with him as he trudges through the house, and Cyrus takes delight in following him and reaching through the many layers to press cold fingers into Giovanni’s skin whenever he gets too comfortable. And each time, it sends Giovanni dashing for the thermostat and cranking it a few notches higher until the entire household turns into a sauna.The poor persian meows constantly, a long and pitiful sound until she is finally let outside to escape the heat.

 

“What’s wrong with me?” Giovanni mutters while staring at the thermostat. He might be cold, his hands and feet might be freezing to the touch, but he can still read and the numbers on the meter are in the triple digits. A few more seconds of staring and the man shuffles away, still wrapped up tight in his blankets.

 

Tormenting Giovanni like this might be petty or cruel but either the man leaves or cleans up his act. He repeats this cycle for the next few days until finally Giovanni is up at a decent hour. Morning finds Giovanni sitting at the kitchen counter, watching the coffee maker brew as though his life depended on every last miracle drop. Cyrus might be the ghost, but at that moment Giovanni looks more like someone who’s crawled out of a grave with those dark shadows under his eyes and pale skin.

 

There’s an empty mug set on the counter, its purpose obvious though Giovanni practically seems oblivious to his surroundings. His entire world is narrowed down to the dark drip of caffeine collecting in the pot.

 

So begins phase two.

 

As a ghost, it’s no effort at all to move objects. The smaller they are, the easier it is. Something as simple as that mug is whisked away within seconds. The cupboard once again containing it’s ceramic container, one among several others. All of them as plain and uninspiring as the next. Evidently Giovanni puts as little thought to where he gets his drinkware as he does with what he wears at night.

 

What a fool. Giovanni turns around as the timer sounds off, looking for his mug only to blink at the empty space where it used to be.

 

“I swore it was right here,” the man all but growls. As Cyrus has discovered: a sleep deprived Giovanni is less tolerant of inconveniences, even if they’re supposedly of his own making.

 

The cupboard for the mugs is opened once again and Cyrus silently steals the pot of coffee, floating it up to the ceiling with him as Giovanni is turned around. When Giovanni pads back over to the coffee maker, Cyrus deftly opens the cupboard and shoves the carafe in.

 

“What the hell?”

 

Cyrus floats down to sit on the counter, watching the man turn in circles for quite some time after he’s done blinking at the empty brewer. Then the man is shoving open cabinets one by one until he doubletakes at the pot left among his mugs. He can see how Giovanni’s eyebrows knit together as the man picks up the same mug as before in one hand and then the coffee pot in the other, staring at the two as though they’d both just grown mouths and spoken to him. Seconds turn into minutes and the clock continues to tick and tick until Giovanni finally sets both down with a heavy sigh.

 

“I’m going crazy.”

 

He starts to poor himself a generous amount of coffee and shudders once again while he’s at it, glancing about the room as though expecting to see something until his gaze lands directly on Cyrus. And that’s when the coffee overflows and spills all over the counter. He nearly drops the pot as he curses, scrambling for towels and napkins to mop up his mess.

 

Cyrus may be a ghost but being stared at definitely made whatever heart he has beat louder.

 

*

 

Giovanni is going crazy.

 

Or there’s something in the water or some kind of leak and he’s been breathing in fumes that’s been affecting his mental faculties since nothing’s been right since he’s moved into this house. He’s always cold no matter how high he turns the heat. At this point he might as well give up using the oven for cooking his meals since his entire house is practically one now. Even stranger still is that this cold never seems to be consistent, it moves from room to room and place to place. He could be in the bedroom, finally warm again and suddenly the cold is there or he could be in the garage, finally regaining feeling to his toes and the cold sneaks up on him and pounces. It’s as if he’s being followed, which is ridiculous.

 

But then there are the missing items.

 

His keys have disappeared. His letters and minor knick knacks. Sometimes they turn up again, sometimes they’re simply gone. He’s already torn up the entire house twice looking for what he’s supposedly lost only to turn up nothing.

 

This is how Giovanni knows that something’s going on.

 

Thankfully, his phone at least hasn’t disappeared, but that’s mostly due to the fact that it practically never leaves his side. It’s either in hand or in pocket. Surely if he’s misplacing things, then his phone should have gone missing at least once. More proof that it isn’t just him.

 

Or so he hopes.

 

He doesn’t feel crazy, he hopes he’d possess enough self-awareness to realize that when he’d be slowly, but surely losing his marbles. Asides from things disappearing and the cold, everything else has been fine.

 

Most of what he’s been losing have been minor inconveniences, save for his keys, but those eventually turn up despite how often he seems to be misplacing them. Everything else? All those pillows and cups and favourite pens? He can live without them.

 

But then his rings go missing.

 

His rings, that he’s had for years since he was a boy. The rings he’d always worn and never taken off save for when he’s in the shower or when he’s in bed. They go missing. Giovanni remembers quite distinctly removing the pair only to wake up in the morning to find them gone.

That’s when he decides to formulate a plan.

 

He makes a phone call to the one man he trusts and barely an hour later there’s a knock on his door. Archer stands at threshold holding an abnormally large box. “Good morning, boss. I came as quickly as possible.”

 

“That was fast,” Giovanni peers at the box, but steps aside to let his subordinate in, ushering him into the living room where Archer gently sets the box down and begins to sort through its contents.

 

“Four cameras. It’ll take a bit of time to set them up, but I’ll get it done before the end of the day.” Archer holds up one of the cameras in question, puffing his chest in pride as though he were offering diamonds rather than simple gadgetry.

 

“Very good Archer, I appreciate this especially on such short notice.”

 

The younger man shrugs his shoulders and to anyone else he might seem nonchalant, but Giovanni’s had this man under his employ for years and Archer might as well be preening with the praise he’s been given.

 

“Oh and I got you a little house warming gift, thought you might like it.” There’s an impish gleam to his subordinate's eye as he pulls out a framed poster and holds it up for all to see. One glance and Giovanni barks out a laugh.

 

It was a Flat Earth poster. A digitally altered image of the planet to look like a flat disc with the oceans cascading off its sides and into the black void of space. He takes the poster from Archer as he pores over the details.

 

“This is well done. And ridiculous. Where’d you get this thing?”

 

“Found it in the bargain bin while I was picking the cameras up.”

 

Archer’s only barely watching his boss out of the corner of his eye as he’s still going about assembling the parts for one camera. It would seem despite the man’s best efforts all the wires and cables had manage to become tangled together in transit. No matter, Giovanni doesn’t really need everything set up right away.

 

“Well, how about a cup of coffee before you start. I get the feeling I pulled you out of bed.” Giovanni’s already setting aside the poster and heading for the kitchen without a second glance back, but he can hear the mad scramble of sensitive electronic parts being stashed away before Archer’s quickly at his heels.

 

“Nothing would make me happier, boss.”

 

There’s been no more incidents with the coffee maker itself though Giovanni’s still losing mugs and finding them in the strangest places like in the shower or in his linen closet, but he manages to scrounge two up while he gathers the sugar and cream. Instantly the kitchen’s filled with that delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee as he takes a seat opposite of Archer at the counter.

 

*

 

No.

 

And a hundred times no. Not in his house. First this man comes into his home, which is something he already doesn’t want. He’s trying to get rid of the man who lives here, more people just create more problems. Secondly it seems that they are trying to film him or something with those cameras, which he doesn’t know what to do about. He’s unsure what kind of myths about ghosts are just myths. Thirdly, the fucking poster. Why or how such a thing was found, he will never have any idea but _supporting that ridiculous theory by purchasing that poster_??

 

He’s angry, furious, with this stranger.

 

There’s a sudden surge, so electrifying as though he’d grabbed a livewire and all Cyrus can see is white and then he hears panicked shouting. The two living men suddenly cursing as one of them starts scrambling for the sink while the other one’s clutching his head, a large red welt cutting down his cheek.

 

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” Giovanni snaps and shoves Archer away and points to the the poster that’s somehow moved from the living room to the kitchen. The poster that’s also currently on fire. “Deal with it!”

 

Archer dumps a large bowl of water onto the poster that instantly douses the flames, smoke rising in large billowing plumes to fill the kitchen. The smell must be horrible as both men are instantly making their escape to the porch.

 

“It was like that thing flew at you, sir.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. There must have been a draft or something.” For how quickly and vehemently Giovanni retorts, there’s still that doubt that laces his tone.

 

Cyrus follows them to the threshold and stops, only able to glimpse the back of Giovanni’s shoulder from around the corner. There’s little point in going further when he knows the outcome. There’ll be a barrier there. Invisible to all. But as solid as any wall to Cyrus even when others are able to come and go as they please.

 

It’s not as if he cares though. Why would he ever want to leave his home?

 

“A draft doesn’t suddenly fling objects like it’s trying to decapitate you. Another half an inch and you might have lost an eye.”

 

“If it’s not a draft then what the hell else could it be?”

 

There’s no answer, both men suddenly fall into a shared silence as they both know full well what the truth could be. This could be a record. Usually it would take others at least a month before they could no longer deny that their new dream home was haunted. Then again, none of the others had ever given him a real reason to want them out.

 

Cyrus glowers at the back of that insufferable man who’d dare to taint his house with such an abomination of a poster. And then he freezes when suddenly Giovanni whirls around, once again staring straight at Cyrus.

 

“Sir?”

 

Archer suddenly steps into view, peering into the kitchen though looking through Cyrus unlike Giovanni who’s almost meeting his gaze. The younger man’s brows furrow as he looks into the kitchen and then back at Giovanni.

 

“Is something the matter sir?”

 

There’s still more of that intense staring and then Giovanni is blinking and shaking his head, finally taking his eyes off Cyrus. “It’s nothing, Archer. Just thought I saw something… but I guess it was my imagination.”

 

Judging from Archer’s expression, it’s clear that the man doesn’t quite believe Giovanni, but he’s clearly also not the type of employee who  argues with his boss either. With a small shrug of his shoulders, he steps away from the door again and eventually the two men start talking about work. And from the topic of their conversation, it doesn’t necessarily sound like Archer’s talking about how to run a gym either.

 

After a few hours filled with inane chatter and Cyrus listing after the two men as they begin to set up the cameras about the inside of his home, all of which are an eyesore that he’ll be taking down immediately, Archer finally leaves and Giovanni is once again left alone.

 

Mostly.

 

There’s a racket in the kitchen as Giovanni finally cleans up the mess, picking up the remains of the poster and tossing it into the garbage under the sink. He sighs as he leans against the counter, a hand running down his face, looking for a moment as though he were shouldering the entire world’s burdens. It lasts only a moment, long enough for Cyrus to settle into the seat at Giovanni’s side and for the other man to flinch and straighten almost immediately.

 

“I know you’re there.”

 

For a moment, he panics and considers fleeing. Then the rational part of his mind takes hold and he remains, glaring back at the arrogant man who’s ruined everything. He gets the satisfaction of seeing Giovanni flinch, which has him wondering again for half a second if perhaps he _can_ see him, but no. Of course not. No one’s ever seen him. Ever.

 

“You’ve been a little nuisance from day one. I don’t know why you’re here or what you want, but this is my home.” Now Giovanni’s staring at him again and Cyrus nearly backs away under the force of his gaze. “I bought this place. It’is under my name. So you might as well move on and get over whatever trivial little issue it is that has you stuck here since I have no intentions of leaving.”

 

“And what do you intend to do if I don’t leave?” The sound of his own voice is strange to his ears. Cyrus hasn’t spoken aloud in ages, in fact he hadn’t been certain if he could really speak. He might have tried ages ago, screamed into occupied rooms only to receive no reaction in return. At some point he might have given up and realized the futility of trying since he’s never bothered for as long as he can remember lurking between these walls.

 

But Giovanni reacts. He practically jumps, looking as though he’s ready to have a heart attack. The man shoves a hand forward, straight through Cyrus again and hisses at the sudden cold and snatches his arm back, cradling it close to his chest. “Then I’ll get a damn vacuum and suck you up or something. I’ll find some way to get rid of you. I don’t know much about ghosts, but I’m fairly certain the process won’t be good for you.”

 

Plates begin to rattle inside the cupboards. How dare this man come into his home, intrude upon his space, defile the sanctity of the one place that he’s ever cherished with filth like that poster and then threaten him. As though he has any power here when this is his home. It will always be his home.

 

Giovanni glances back at the dishes, but knowing that he has an audience now, manages to remain composed. Cyrus is almost distracted by the difference here, the man Giovanni shows to the rest of the world and the man Giovanni’s been behind closed doors the entire time Cyrus has been observing him are like night and day.

 

“I doubt it’s very wise to threaten a ghost.” Cyrus leans forward, almost all but whispering the cold words into Giovanni’s ear, his mouth curving slightly at the way Giovanni shivers.

 

“You don’t seem to understand who you’re dealing with.” Giovanni visibly forces himself to remain still. “Others have learned that it’s not wise to cross me. And you’ll learn too. I’m not like the ones you chased away. I don’t frighten so easily.”

 

If Cyrus were still alive, if he still had organs that churned blood and all the functions that required to maintain life, then he might have felt them twisting now at the look on Giovanni’s face. There’s a man who could promise the wrath of god to the unfortunate. If he were still alive, then he might have felt afraid.

 

But he’s dead and no matter what petty little threats Giovanni makes, he doubts even at their worst they could affect him in any way.

 

Besides, what has he got to lose anyway?

 

But for some reason, he remains in the kitchen and does nothing when Giovanni finally leaves, his footsteps echoing through the nearly empty house as he makes his way upstairs. He hears the click of a door that’s undoubtedly the bedroom and for the first time in a weeks, he decides to leave the man alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all is fair in love and war
> 
> plz go give Chrissy some love at rocketbcss on tumblr!!

He doesn’t even need to open his eyes to hear the running water. Giovanni groans as he rises, flinging off the duvet and rubbing at his face. He’s barely awake as he trudges down the hall, his feet too heavy to fully leave the floor.

****

He’s five feet before the door when he steps in a puddle. The squelch of it underneath now soaked socks sickens him enough to finally face the damage beyond the door. As with everything else that has gone wrong in this damned house, it’s a mess. Water streams from the sink, from the bathtub, he could convert the place into a kiddy pool at this point since he’s certain the water has damaged everything else beyond salvaging.

****

“You’re really going to destroy this place to get me out?” The ghost is here. He knows. He’s practically freezing in ice water now, the pool of water at his feet still there even with the source of the water is now turned off. “What happens to you if this house comes down in your scheme to force me away?”

****

“I get peace and quiet or I’m not here anymore. Either way I would be done dealing with you.”

****

“Surely I’m not that bad?” The only answer to the question is silence. Wonderful. His day’s already starting off well. He glowers at nothing and abandons the bathroom. It’s going to be hard earned money wasted in getting the place cleaned up and whatever repairs it’s going to take to keep the second floor from collapsing into the first.

****

Each day is a new surprise and Giovanni almost regrets his declaration of war since the ghost has turned his entire home into a battleground. Nothing is sacred now and the frequency of things disappearing has jumped to new heights. Shoes, socks, his wallet, all gone and it only took Giovanni pointing out that he can’t leave if he has nothing to leave the house with for the missing items to turn up again. Never where he left them originally of course.

****

But he’s entrenched in this now. If there’s one thing Giovanni hates then it’s losing and he’ll be damned if he loses to a ghost of all things. Once he’s had his coffee and without any disappearing mugs either, he makes two phone calls. One to Archer to get the necessary people to look into his bathroom situation and another to a special contact.

****

He gets three visitors that day, one from his usual housekeeper who clucks her tongue at the state of the bathroom and manages to do only the minimal amount of scolding before she works her magic. Then there’s another visit from a general contractor who suggests a complete bathroom remodel and finally, the last person Giovanni’s been anticipating all day.

****

The knock comes well into the evening and Giovanni opens the door to find a young man admiring his front yard. “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Giovanni says. “Especially since I know how nearly impossible it is to leave the gym sometimes.”

****

The young man readjusts his purple scarf and steps into the house. “It’s no trouble. To be honest I was surprised you’d make such a request,” Morty shrugs. “You never gave me the impression that you believed in what I do.”

****

“Well, given the current circumstances, I’m starting to see the light.”

****

“I can sense the presence. I could sense it all the way from outside.” Morty drifts into the living room. “It’s here. A lonely soul. Someone who should have passed on ages ago.”

****

“Yeah, he’s here all right.” Giovanni glares at the ghost currently lurking in one of the corners of the house, the apparition glaring right back at him in return. “From what I’ve heard he’s been here for a while.”

****

Morty turns to him, expression grim as though he’d never cracked a smile in his life before. “This won’t be easy, Giovanni. An exorcism is a delicate thing and it’s not something I specialize in either. If you want to me to discern truths about this spectre then I’m your man, but you’ll have to turn to someone else if you want to make this ghost leave.”

****

Of course. He hadn’t been expecting much, but Giovanni had hoped it wouldn’t be difficult either. Then again, what does he know about exorcisms? It’s not as if he’s ever cared about such things. “Surely it can’t be that hard.”

****

The boy shakes his head. “For me it is and especially in this case it’ll be extremely difficult. This is the spirit’s home. And there’s… something different about this one. I can’t say exactly what.”

****

“I’m not leaving,” the ghost mutters from the corner and Giovanni has to stop himself from smirking at the way Morty flinches.

****

“He says he’s not leaving.” Giovanni decides to play the middle man.

****

“You can hear him?” Morty raises an eyebrow, looking absolutely intrigued. “I can only feel him and on occasion see flashes of him. Incredible. The two of you must have been spending quite some time together for things to have progressed this much.”

****

Both Giovanni and the ghost exchange looks of disgust.

****

*

****

He’s taken to standing right outside Giovanni’s bedroom door in the mornings. There aren’t many things that exist anymore that bring him any sense of joy but seeing his unfortunate housemate going from sleep-warm and trying to get out of his dozing state to chilled and cursing is one of his new pleasures. Though this barely lasts a week before the door opens and Giovanni stays standing there on the other side of the frame.

 

“You’re becoming predictable. I know you’re there.” Giovanni rubs at his eyes. “Get out of my way.”

 

Cyrus doesn’t answer and waits for whatever move the man is going to make. Giovanni swats a hand out, wrinkling his nose when it runs through Cyrus’s chilled body. “You’re there. Now move or we test out iron on you today.” None of the rumored ghost ridding techniques have worked on Cyrus yet but he isn’t willing let the man keep trying until he finds one that succeeds.

 

Cyrus steps back and leans into the wall glaring at the man who keeps figuring him out. New tricks don’t come easily to him and his list of things he has already done to get on the man’s nerves is quickly diminishing. If things remain the way they are then he’s going to have to be creative.

 

Giovanni still doesn’t move, yawning and scratching sleepily at the beginnings of a beard. “You’re still there.” He says, glaring at a space of wall that Cyrus isn’t occupying. Seconds tick by with the both of them at a standstill, neither of them really having anything pressing to attend to.

 

Then Cyrus is sinking down, floating through floorboards and cobwebs that remain undisturbed by his presence. He rises right under Giovanni’s feet, just enough to instantly chill them.

 

Giovanni curses, slamming a heel into the floorboards that does nothing to affect Cyrus. However, this trick is the same one from two weeks after Giovanni moved in. “You’re so original…” A grumble that comes from behind Giovanni’s clenched teeth. Cyrus already knows this, but it still gets Giovanni moving.

 

The day starts for Giovanni and Cyrus follows him from a distance, observing the man closely for a chance where he could possibly catch Giovanni off guard. Though he quickly loses his chance to do so when the first thing that Giovanni does is sling a towel over his shoulder and locks himself in the spare bathroom. Cyrus stands in front of the closed door, glaring at the steam rising from the gap underneath it and the floor.

 

His discontent rises as he stares at the wood, every second is too long for him even though Cyrus has all the time in the world now that he’s dead. Before his life was interrupted there was finally some peace around the house, the result of him chasing out the latest happy couple that moved in with a record time of one month and a week. The constant trading over of owners for the house must have taken a toll on whatever way the place is rated these days.

 

Every project some unfortunate stranger that tries to buy his house has always offended him. He doesn’t know what Giovanni is going to do to his home but the added burden of being already discovered with Giovanni treating him as little more than an inconvenience isn’t something he knows what to do with. Usually there’s shrieking and adults huddling under blankets. Giovanni has yet to do either.

 

He doesn’t want to keep dealing with this invasion of his privacy. Unfortunately Cyrus has never enjoyed people. Now that he’s no longer bound to most laws of physics and completely invisible he’s mostly left to do what he wants.

 

What he wants is this complication out of what is left of his life.

 

He wedges a chair under the doorknob as an inconvenience to his housemate. Perhaps this will teach Giovanni that his predictable tricks are much better than anything else he could possibly do. Making the man sit in the bathroom for a few hours may help him consider moving out.

 

Though his trick is for naught when the shower is turned off only for the sink to start running. He huffs and leans back against the wall, crossing his arms and frowning at the light switch on the other side of the hall. And the sink keeps running. And running. Cyrus glares at the barricaded door and tries to piece together whatever could take so damn long.

 

Oh. That’s right. He’s dead.

 

Cyrus floats through the door and feels his expectations sink even lower at the scene of Giovanni shaving. Even with the thick haze of steam, there’s no mistaking the incredibly naked man, water still dripping off his toned body as he leans towards the mirror, face half covered in shaving cream and a blade in one hand. Not a regular safety blade as any sensible man would use, but an old fashioned straight razor.

 

He nearly back pedals right through the door, but he can’t move and he can’t stop staring. This isn’t the first time he’s caught Giovanni naked and he’s not certain what he’d thought would happen barging in on him when he’s in the bathroom, but his mind’s currently short-circuiting. He can’t think. He can’t even move on instinct. Giovanni is naked and he’s still staring.

 

How can one man so old be that heavily muscled?

 

Giovanni suddenly straightens, his grip on the blade tightens as though he means to use it as a weapon than for its intended purpose. He whirls around, brandishing his razor and glares at the spot where Cyrus is standing. He must have become visible again because Giovanni is staring straight at him.

 

“Enjoying the view?” Evidently Giovanni’s not one to feel an ounce of shame about his exposure, he’s still standing tall and proud. And, well, he has quite a lengthy reason to be that proud.

 

“ No! I --” Arceus help him, why can’t he stop staring? It’s not as if this is the first time he’s seen someone naked before. It’s bound to happen in a house where its occupants aren’t aware that they’re being watched. He’s walked in far too many times on what he shouldn’t have and it’d given him more reason to want to chase them away. There’s no excuse now. There’d always been a tacit agreement between him and Giovanni that the man would only ever undress in the bathroom. These days, he’s even taken to wearing something to bed though that has more to do with the fact that Cyrus has been keeping the temperature at a level that requires winter clothing indoors.

 

“And yet you’re still looking.” Giovanni takes a step forward, mouth twisting into something that’s positively devilish. Suddenly Cyrus can understand how people seem to be always dropping whatever they’re doing to cater to Giovanni’s whims. “People might suspect that you’re interested when you can’t seem to take your eyes off me.”

 

He has no words since he still can’t think and Giovanni’s still stalking him, like he’s prey, like he’s ready to pounce and he’s not certain at this point if the man’s going to slice him or do something else that’s entirely devious. Flashes of that conversation between Giovanni and his subordinate play through his mind and the razor only gives them all new definition.

 

“You’re deluding yourself.”

 

“I only think that it’s fair that since you’ve seen mine that I get to see yours.” Finally, finally Giovanni closes the knife and Cyrus relaxes only a hair until he realizes exactly what the man means and his eyes widen.

 

“I’m dead, you utter buffoon.”

 

“Well then, you can leave any time. The door is right behind you.”

 

And that’s when he remembers, for the second time in a handful of minutes that he’s exactly as he’d claimed: dead and steps back into the hall. He scrubs at his face as if the friction would make him forget the conversation that he was just a part of.

 

Cyrus goes back to the living room and sits long enough in the silence of the house for his bad decision to fade into the past instead of being a present pain to think about.

 

Of course the peace doesn’t last long when Giovanni finds his way out of the bathroom being blocked by a chair. Cyrus can hear the curses from his seat on the couch and snorts. At least this time his vengeance is swift.

 

“I HATE YOU.”

 

“That’s what you get for taking so long.”

****

 

*

****

He’s damn tired of hearing coughing and sneezing all through the night. It’s been two weeks since he heard the fist horrid sniff and it’s only gotten worse from there. Giovanni’s taken to sleeping in the living room, however even with the escape from Giovanni’s germ ridden bed the man hasn’t seen any improvement. It seems like he’s only getting worse.

****

It’s even more worrying when the weekend comes and the man hardly leaves the sofa during the whole duration. Monday’s sun shines through the curtains and the house is filled with the shrill tones of Giovanni’s alarm clock until Cyrus finally makes himself move to check up on his housemate. He finds Giovanni just staring tiredly at the ceiling, nearly every other strained breath turning into wet coughs.

****

“You should be at a doctor’s.” He says, hitting the button on the clock.

****

“I’m fine.” Giovanni coughs deeply for nearly a minute. “Go away, you’re making it worse.”

****

“I’m pretty sure you not taking medication has everything to do with your condition.”

Giovanni’s retort turns into a coughing fit. Cyrus stands awkwardly through it, uneasy when Giovanni seems to have trouble catching his breath.

****

“Have you taken your temperature?”

****

“No.”

****

“Have you drank anything?”

****

“I said go away.”

****

He doesn’t see a cup anywhere so Cyrus goes ahead and gets a glass of water from the kitchen. There is no sense in Giovanni staying home if he isn’t taking care of himself and able to stay on top of his illness. He sets the cup of water down on the coffee table and somewhere under the pile of blankets on the couch is a sick man’s grumblings over water rings on the furniture.

****

“Really?” Cyrus pulls back the blankets to feel at Giovanni’s forehead only to realize that without his own body heat there is no checking the man’s temperature that way. He sighs and leaves Giovanni to wrap himself back up in blankets while Cyrus finds a thermometer.

****

He opens nearly every cupboard in the house before finding where Giovanni stores his medical supplies and it’s the saddest collection he’s ever seen -- half a bottle of aspirin and a nearly empty box of bandaids. It becomes clear to him how very little his housemate seems to value his health.

****

But he continues to search on the off chance that he might have missed it and finds an alternative instead. Cyrus floats back to the living room to find Giovanni still buried under the blankets, but there’s an empty glass moved to a coaster right beside him.

****

“Open your mouth.”

There’s the rustle of fabric and Giovanni peeks out at him, bleary eyed with red cheeks and a red nose, but still aware enough to recognize the object in Cyrus’ hands. The look he gives Cyrus is utterly unimpressed. “A meat thermometer. Really.”

****

“The concept is the same.”

****

Giovanni’s reply is to retreat back under the blankets, which has Cyrus making a frustrated sound as he dives right after the man. To think that he’s supposed to be the youngest of the two here and yet here he is feeling as though he’s looking after a child. The most stubborn and obnoxious child he’s ever met. Granted, Cyrus hasn’t really met that many since he leaving elementary school, but the point still stands.

****

There’s a yelp when his hand passes through Giovanni’s back and then the man beneath him goes alarmingly still, the fact that Cyrus can still see the rise and fall of his chest is the only indication he has that Giovanni hasn’t suddenly died from shock. But he takes advantage of Giovanni’s puzzling passivity by carefully sticking the prod into his mouth, the man even complies by moving it under his tongue with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

****

“That’s not even going to be close to accurate,” Giovanni says the moment Cyrus pulls thermometer out and frowns at the reading.

****

“103.3°F.” Loath as Cyrus is to admit it, but he’s certain that Giovanni is right, but he hopes the high numbers are enough to finally spur the lazy man into action. “Now will you go see a doctor?”

****

“No.” And with that Giovanni falls back against his nest and shuts his eyes. “I’ve been in worse conditions before. Whatever this is, it’ll pass. I’ll survive. Besides, this is all your fault. If you didn’t leave the entire house in sub-zero temperatures then I wouldn’t be like this.”

****

Cyrus hovers closer to Giovanni, who stirs in his proximity, the tight hold the man has about his pillow suddenly loosens. “Even if what you say is true, you do this at great risk to yourself.”

****

There’s only silence for his answer, one that drags on for so long that Cyrus would almost believe that Giovanni’s fallen asleep. Except he’s seen the man sleep, he knows exactly what he looks and sounds like when he’s sleeping. This is nothing but a ruse to make him leave and he refuses.

****

“Why do you even care so much? I thought you wanted me gone.” The words are so mumbled it takes a moment for Cyrus to process what was just said. He blinks and settles on top of Giovanni, sitting on his hip and notes that the man doesn’t quite flinch as he usually does when he’s touched.

****

“Your coughing is disturbing and loud. There hasn’t been a moment of silence since you fell ill. This is merely a means to an end. Your recovery means I can finally have a measure of peace.” He answers without blinking. “And if you happen to die from this illness there is a possible chance that you might remain here as a spirit. That is not a risk I'm willing to take.”

****

Beneath him, there’s a snort that quickly lapses into another violent coughing fit and then Giovanni has his eyes open, staring up at Cyrus in a way that’s makes him uneasy when for the longest time he’d been invisible to everyone. Being seen is akin to being naked and he wishes the man would look anywhere else but him.

****

“What is it?” He tries his hardest not to shift. A fidgeting ghost, that could be the punchline for a joke.

****

“I knew it was too good to be true when I bought this house -- the price for all the square footage and the location. It was like the realtors were practically giving me this place. If it’s too good to be true it’s because it is, there’s always strings attached. I’ve never had anything freely given to me. I’ve always had to take what I wanted.” Giovanni’s voice is softer than Cyrus has ever heard and he’s heard the man take on the most embarrassing tones when spoiling his Persian. It’s certainly the first time he’s ever heard Giovanni speak to him without some hard edge of irritation to his words.

****

“Haunted houses generally don’t do well in today’s market.” There’s only the brief spark of eye contact and then Cyrus is looking away, far too aware of Giovanni’s stare.

****

“What’s your name?”

****

Now he’s looking at Giovanni again, eyes widening only for a fraction before he can leash his shock. His mouth twists into a scowl to hide his surprise, but there’s no fooling Giovanni it seems. The man’s far more clever than Cyrus has given him credit for and there’s that all too smug grin.

****

“What do you care?” he snaps. “I’m dead.”

****

“Well, if we’re supposed to be roommates then it’d be nice to have something to call you by instead of say, ‘ghost’ or ‘you bastard’.” Giovanni is looking far too pleased with himself and Cyrus is sorely tempted to toss something at him. “Or I could give you a name if you’d like. Did you know I named my son after a song?”

****

Cyrus opens his mouth and then shuts it, nearly spluttering at the very thought of whatever ridiculous name Giovanni would pluck from the depths of his twisted and juvenile mind. But his thoughts snag onto that one slip that he’s certain Giovanni wouldn’t have made if he were in better shape. Evidently a fever is enough to loosen his tongue and have him toss away his inhibitions.

****

“You have a son?” He hopes a change in subject will be enough for Giovanni to forget the name business.

****

“A happy little accident, I never wanted children and it was a good decision since as it turns out, I was a terrible father, but yes, I have a son. His name’s Silver and he’s off wandering around in the next region or some such trying to make a name for himself that’s separate from his old man’s. He doesn’t know how proud he makes me regardless of if he’s champion or not.” Something about the way Giovanni looks and the near melancholy quality of his voice is enough for Cyrus to wish he were elsewhere. This is definitely something he shouldn’t have heard.

****

“I’m… sure he’ll realize eventually.” There’s a tightness to his chest as he casts a slow look around the living room. Nothing remains of how he remembers this place as it used to be. Not even the walls. Cyrus pulls his knees to his chest.

****

“You feel nice.” Giovanni nearly sighs as he relaxes back against the couch with a heavy sigh. “Nice and cool. Don’t move.” It doesn’t take him long to drift off to sleep.

****

And Cyrus remains where he is well into the night and the next morning.

****

*

****

“Dad.”

****

He glances up, seeing the tiny form of Silver before him. Still so small that he could easily pick the boy up and cradle him in arms. Giovanni steps forward, hand outstretched to take his son’s only to grasp nothing. He frowns, trying again to take his boy’s hand only for the same thing to happen.

****

“Don’t worry about me, dad.” Silver again, older. When Giovanni looks again, his son is gone and he’s standing alone on that same dark street, wishing that he’d told Silver to come with him.

****

Except something is wrong with this memory. There’s smoke when before there’d only been that smell of wet cement after a rainfall and the crisp night air. He wrinkles his nose, glancing around for the source of the stench. Was something on fire?

****

And then he’s awake, gazing up at white plumes of smoke wafting through his living room. “What?” It’s a struggle to even sit, but he manages to haul himself upright and glances around, confused at how his home has suddenly turned into some sort of smokehouse.

****

“You’re finally awake.”

****

He’s no longer dreaming, he knows this since his nose and eyes are watering, but he sees a tied pink frilly apron along with a bowl and spoon come floating into the living room and settle on the coffee table -- on a mat at least. He refrains from commenting on the small courtesy.

****

“When did I ever own an apron like that?” It’s the first question that pops into his head as he takes stock of the situation. The ghost had cooked. The ghost had made soup. Chicken soup if he’s guessed correctly. Then again it could be swamp water for all  he could really know with how abominable that mess inside that bowl looks.

****

“It belonged to one of the previous owners. They left it behind since they were in a hurry.” The Ghost holds the spoon for Giovanni to take, the piece of silverware hovering there right in front of him. This is it, he realizes as he stares down at the bowl. Taking that spoon would mean an ordeal worse than any he’s ever endured in his life.

****

“I’m not hungry.” He tries not to back away from the spoon as its thrust even closer.

****

“You need to eat regardless. If you’re to recover from this illness then you’ll need food to regain your strength.”

****

Can’t argue with that logic since it’s the same line he’d pulled on Silver once upon a time. He deflates in defeat and takes the spoon. The bowl is suddenly lifted from the coffee table and gently placed in his lap.

****

“You really shouldn’t have.” He dips the spoon into the soup and stares at what he’s managed to fish out. Chunks of chicken, thin yellow water and an ancient looking carrot. Squeezing his eyes shut, Giovanni shoves the entire spoonful into his mouth and swallows without tasting the vile slime he’s just forced himself to consume.

****

“Your cat keeps making a racket whenever I leave the room and your breathing stops sometimes when you’re asleep.” He can feel the glare sent from the space above the apron, even if the face is invisible. “You’ve slept for more than twenty-four hours without eating or drinking anything. Please get yourself to a medical professional.”

****

“I said I don’t need a doctor.” The apron rises from the other couch cushion.

****

“What the hell am I supposed to do if I can’t wake you up?”

****

“I’m not going to die.”

****

“I can’t call anyone for help about this. I don’t even know if you’re going to remember this conversation.” The apron turns around and there is a sigh. “I don’t know if I can take care of you. Giovanni, your fever still hasn’t gone down.” The half filled glass of water on the table floats into the air, the liquid inside sloshing with each movement. The apron disappears into the kitchen and Giovanni faintly hears the ice maker dropping cubes with a clink in the glass. He blinks after the floating cloth, wondering if there is a conversation he should be remembering outside of the haze of fever and aching coughs.

****

Perhaps he really does need to eat.

****

Or maybe he can take this golden opportunity by tossing the contents of the bowl into the nearest potted plant. Too late. A full glass of water and the pink apron make their return to the living room, the glass settling on the table and the apron settling on the spot beside him. That telltale cold is more soothing than any medication or food or drink he could take.

****

He’s staring balefully down at the soup when the cogs of his mind finally turn and he glances sharply at the apron. “You actually do care about my wellbeing.”

****

“No I don’t.”

****

Giovanni grins and points the spoon at the ghost. “You took the time to make me soup. You’re constantly making sure I’m hydrated and you’re still going on about me seeing a doctor. What sort of person does any of this if they don’t actually care.”

****

“You can’t take care of yourself. Persian can’t take care of you and you still haven’t called anyone over to help. I’m the only able bodied person in this house and if you get worse then it would be my fault for not taking some form of responsibility.”

****

“In other words: you care.” He takes another spoonful of the soup and thinks that it’s to his benefit that he can’t actually smell or wholly taste anything since what flavours that he manages to discern he’s certain should gag-inducing. He thinks for a moment to ask how the ghost made this soup, but decides it’d be best to simply remain blissfully ignorant on this matter.

****

It’s hard to try to eat anything when his head is stuffed full of cotton and his clogged nose makes it impossible to breathe. He’s unsure if he’s grateful for the steam rising from the bowl that seems to help with his congestion as he keeps sniffing or annoyed that the steam’s simultaneously making his nose drip. Giovanni blinks heavily down at the bowl, stirring the concoction in a hypnotizing pattern that only releases more steam.

****

Suddenly his vision is obscured by nothing but white. He jerks away from whatever is being shoved in his face, this irritating ghost still meddling with Giovanni’s health. Doesn’t care indeed.

****

“You’re just putting more germs into your system the more you sniff. Blow your nose you idiot.”

****

A wad of paper towels has Giovanni backed against couch cushions. The top of that bright pink apron signals the ghost’s presence as much as the voice and general chill in the air. He pushes against the pink fabric, nearly toppling the hot bowl of soup into his lap before that too seems to float itself back to the coffee table.

****

“When did you become such a mother hen?” He tries to swat the tissues away, but they persist on being pressed against his face. “I can take care of myself and I can blow my own nose, thank you very much.”

****

“Fine then,” The wad drops into his lap, “Go ahead.” The apron doesn’t move, becoming some watchful sentinel for his health.

****

“I don’t need to.”

****

That’s all it takes for the napkins to suddenly fling themselves to his nose again and no amount of struggling and batting them away does any good. The ghost is stubborn and he’s too tired and exhausted and sick to fight. He growls like he’s an animal and pinches the tissue tighter to his nose, finally blowing into them with enough force that his ears are ringing and then he’s tossing the used kleenex away.

****

“There? Are you happy now? Are you finally going to give me some peace and quiet and leave me alone?”

****

There is a weird tightness of the blankets across his stomach and he realizes with a start that the ghost must be kneeling over him with the way the apron drapes over what must be legs. There is movement, uneven in the up and down motion of the top panel of fabric. He blinks. He didn’t realize that ghosts breathe.

****

“You need to eat.”

****

“I did.” Never mind the fact that he’d taken at most, three spoonfuls of that soup. “I’m not hungry.” Of course as soon as the words leave his mouth his stomach betrays the truth with a loud grumble. He can almost feel the ghost’s judging stare.

****

“I guess you can order delivery then.” The weird pressure of the blankets disappears and the apron backs away to the other end of the couch. Giovanni can’t even see the ghost, but he can’t shake the impression that he’s currently sitting there, arms folded and sulking. Like he’s upset that Giovanni’s not eating his soup.

****

No.

****

He almost laughs and then picks up the bowl and spoon again, staring right at the ghost as he digs in.

****

And of course, now that he has his sense of smell back if only temporarily, the soup tastes awful. The spoon clinks against the bottom of the bowl and the apron angles back towards him, it’s folded nature suggesting his ghost shifting weight off of folded knees to lean against the armrest. He watches the metronome like movement of what he assumes is a leg, each pull away from the tie of the apron shortening the excess cloth draped over the peak of a knee.

****

He chokes. A shimmer of shape where the spectre sits and it is gone in the same second it appears. Long enough for eyes to widen in his direction, a crease to form between brows. But then it’s disappears. He’s still coughing though, a high sound that wrecks his throat.

****

“Giovanni?” The coughing doesn’t stop and he wonders for a second if his sternum hasn’t split in two. He’s miserable from the panicked pounding in his head to the ache of his heaving ribs. His face must be burning off with the heat of his blood, every hack bringing more rushing to his face. He groans between more coughs, doubling over into his fist.

****

There’s a cool touch against his forehead and an instant, the coughing fit subsides and he can breathe again. Giovanni breathes a sigh of relief, surprised how much he takes such a thing for granted, but now that his lungs are no longer on fire, he’s certainly appreciating the fact that he can draw breath again.

****

“All right, fine. I’ll go see the doctor first thing in the morning.” He falls back against his pillows, closing his eyes, chest still rising and falling in rapid succession. He can’t see a thing, but Giovanni can almost feel the smug satisfaction oozing off the ghost.

****

“Good. Finally you do something smart.”

****

“Be quiet.” No, he’s not going to let that damnable ghost win this. With all the strength he can muster, Giovanni grabs onto both of the loose ties of the apron and yanks the ghost towards him. There’s a shout of surprise and then there’s a soothing cold that blankets him and finally, he can rest.

****

*

 

This time he’s jerked awake by a sharp and sudden knocking. In his sleep addled haze, Giovanni thinks that he might have dreamt it and he falls face first into his pillows, arms hugging it to his face to block out the sunny afternoon light. Again, he’s forgotten to close the blinds.

 

A week, that’s how long it’d taken for him to recover from the illness once he’d finally caved from the relentless pestering of the ghost and called Archer. As always, his right hand proved as useful and reliable and had him at his personal doctor’s within a handful of hours. It’d been a simple flu, one exacerbated by the season and by the extreme low temperatures of his home.

 

A fact he was more than willing to share with his housemate the moment he returned home and Archer was out of his hair. He was met with only sullen silence, but there was always a glass of water and his medication on the coffee table afterwards by way of an apology afterwards.

 

Knock, knock, knock.

 

That wasn’t his imagination. He lifts his head again, squinting into his room, breath held as he listens again and this time he can hear the distinct sound of shuffling footsteps on his front porch. So it’s not his aggravating housemate either since ghostly footsteps isn’t a talent he’s displayed. Yet. Though things going bump in the night would be far more preferable to everything that the ghost has been pulling.

 

Well, not as of late.

 

It seems as though they’ve reached some kind of truce despite having never waved any white flags, his housemate’s yet to pull any of his usual tricks. No disappearing mugs, no taps left to run for ages or the thermostat fiddled with. Nothing. If not for the cold that occasionally visits him during the day then Giovanni might have assumed that his otherworldly companion might have moved on.

 

He’s more awake now and works with halting movements to get his clothes on. A pair of pants and a silk bathrobe is enough decency, it’s what his caller deserves for dropping by unannounced. There’s a third round of knocks as he makes his way downstairs and the flesh on his arms starts to prick, hairs rising on end followed by the cold that’s always been his best indicator that the ghost is around.

 

He glances over his shoulder out of his habit, but of course he can’t see his companion. He could almost imagine him. Lately he’s managed to gain a sort of impression of his spectre, someone who’s short and pale, with piercing eyes and a stare that could penetrate to his very soul. It’s hardly a wonder that Giovanni’s always aware when the ghost is watching him when his stare is that intense.

 

There’s a delivery man dressed in a brown uniform waiting for him when he finally answers the door, with barely a word exchanged the stranger is off again, leaving a bewildered Giovanni standing on his front porch as he stares down at the package that's been left at his feet. He scoops it into his arms, hefting the thing as though he could determine what the mystery package could be by weight alone.

 

It’s not until he’s in his living room and tearing the box open that he suddenly remembers what it’s supposed to be and Giovanni laughs as he lifts another box from within. This one’s a little more sombre in presentation, made out of dark wood instead of cardboard that no doubt was the reason for the strange weight of the parcel.

 

He places it gently on his coffee table, more afraid of damaging his own glass furniture than the ornate box itself. Then he’s lifting the top off, staring down at a board full of letters and a small triangular wooden piece tucked aside.

 

“A ouija board.”

 

He nearly jumps out of his skin and bangs his knee on the coffee table instead. “Will you stop sneaking up on me?” Giovanni growls.

 

“You knew I was right beside you all along.” Not a hint of remorse in the ghost’s voice. In fact he sounded almost amused.

 

It’s still somewhat off-putting to be having conversations with thin air even when he can sense the nearby presence hovering somewhere to his left, as though the ghost were peeking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of what had just been delivered. He almost wants to gather the whole thing and toss it into the trash now. Except isn’t that supposed to be bad? Some sort of invitation for more malicious spirits to enter his home? One’s bad enough and this one’s not even all that malicious. Mischievous, certainly.

 

“You’re aware that these things aren’t real?”

 

He scowls down at his waste of money. It’d been a costly order that’s become pointless now since the spirit he’d meant to contact was currently whispering into his ear. “It was worth a try since up until recently I never thought ghosts were real either. You should be grateful that I haven’t started tossing salt all over the place instead.”

 

“I’m not so sure given your current track record. First that abominable poster, then the iron and the candles and now this. You seem to be a very superstitious man, Giovanni.”

 

He raises an eyebrow, once again glancing back and unable to fully comprehend that strange disappointment when there’s nothing there. The ouija board is left abandoned on the coffee table as he turns his attention to the empty space where he’s certain the ghost is occupying. He can almost see him again or perhaps he’s only picturing him so strongly in his head. Short. Pale eyes to match his hair.

 

“You know my name, perhaps I should ask the board what yours is.”

 

“Still stuck on trivial matters. My name means nothing now. I’m dead.”

 

An answer that he’s heard far too many times now that this has become a repeat of their first conversation. He remembers that much even fevered as he’d been during the bulk of it. A gentle ghost, such a strange concept. Then again, he remembers Silver being quite fond of an old cartoon about a helpful ghost.

 

“Well, I guess if you’re not going to give it up, it’s time I give you a new one. How about Bernard?”

 

“No.”

 

“Elmer?”

 

“No.”

 

“Humphrey.”

 

“Giovanni.”

 

There, a flicker. He catches an irritated expression and he can’t help the grin that springs into existence now. It happens in less than a heartbeat and he’s caught enough. Before, he might have considered that to be a victory, but now he’s hardly satisfied with just a glimpse. Now he wants more.

 

“Humphrey it is then. Pleased to meet you, Humphrey. Glad to finally have proper introductions after so long --”

 

“Cyrus.”

 

Well, that was easy, disturbingly so. It appears that his ghost isn’t one for joking as now he can definitely see Cyrus. A name and an appearance in less than a minute? It must be his lucky day. Soon he’ll be expecting for it to rain money at any moment to top it all off.

 

“I didn’t expect for you to be so small.”

 

Cyrus jerks, stepping backwards, eyebrows knitted together. A wary kind of confusion that probably doesn’t appear often on the ghost’s face… If he even appears at all.

 

Too bad that he can’t quite make out any color on Cyrus. Even if Giovanni can see him now, Cyrus is more like mist taken shape, held together by whatever mystical power that ties him to this world and he’s as white as a sheet.

 

Though he can certainly make out that scowl, what a headline it’d make, murdered by a ghost.

 

“You probably shouldn’t have had any expectations in the first place.”

 

“You’re tiny.”

 

The scowl deepens and Giovanni swears he can see fire behind those eyes. Some spark of life. The fact that he’s grinning is likely only fanning the flames.

 

“Stop.”

 

Giovanni rises from the couch and his grin widens even more when he realizes how much Cyrus has to crane his neck to look up at him. There’s such a difference in height that it’s almost unbelievable to think of all those families and couples who’d been chased out of this house by this very ghost.

 

“I can’t believe anyone would be afraid of you, it’s a good thing you’re invisible most of the time since you’d have accomplished nothing.”

 

There it is. The line he’s crossed. He swears those eyes that sear through him have turned dark with pure rage. Black against pale skin, but there’s a flush of colour to the ghost’s cheeks now and Giovanni realizes that he’d been so preoccupied with immolating himself in the heat of that gaze that he’d missed when Cyrus had gained colour.

 

Then again asides from the soft blue of his hair, there really isn’t much colour to discern with how nearly white Cyrus’ complexion is even in daylight. He wonders if this has to be a side effect of death or perhaps Cyrus was always like this. Giovanni hardly knows a thing about this ghost, but he has the strong suspicion that Cyrus isn’t one for a day out in the sun.

 

“You’re actually adorable.” He reaches out to tap a finger on that small nose and freezes when his hand doesn’t pass through cold air as it should. They both stare at each other, the near comical shock he sees in Cyrus’ face likely mirrored in his own. All his control shattered in this one moment. He’s still touching Cyrus, finger on his nose and Cyrus stands stock still, eyes crossed trying to stare down at the point of contact.

 

“You’re cold.”

 

Not as cold as he normally is, but the flesh beneath his finger is still far from warm. He should pull away, break this connection between them especially with how absurd he feels and how absurd they must look.

 

But Cyrus must have sensed his intentions as the ghost immediately takes his hand between his own, yanking him even closer until their bodies are touching and then Cyrus is digging fingers into his clothes, head buried against his chest. Giovanni nearly trips over his own feet under the sudden weight, becoming in that moment a dead man’s foundation.

 

He holds him like that in the middle of his living room, arms closed tight around this strange man that’s become the most unexpected and unusual companion he’s had in so many years. Giovanni holds Cyrus until he notes the first rays of sunlight slanting through the edges of the man. Even bracing himself, even hardening his heart so that he can be numb to the inevitable, he still stumbles when Cyrus dissolves away and he’s holding nothing but empty air.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giovanni and Cyrus make an interesting discovery.

He messed up.

 

Pure instinct is never a good thing when one is a man who prides himself in steering through life on the most straightforward route. Maintaining ties only when dealing with the people he knows are permanent and necessary.

 

Unfortunately that process has left him with very few people who would bother to stay close, and those few are even less now that he is dead. His grandfather had been one of them and now he’s gone. But things can change, even while dead. These years being stuck here certainly didn’t lead him to believe that he would find someone stubborn enough to stick around. No amount of missing coffee cups or “misplaced” keys stopped Giovanni from staying.

 

Stupid, stubborn Giovanni. 

 

Who’d been warm as a furnace and far too gentle. Treating him like some glass figurine, ready to break at any second. Of course during the heat of the moment he had clung to the opportunity that he no longer had from life, clinging to a man who he would be dealing with for some time now. Why couldn’t he have met Giovanni sooner? Why couldn’t he had just left the man alone? Why does he have to try to live again when he is already dead?

 

He’s been sitting in the attic for two days now, unsure of what exactly he should do with himself. Up here amidst the cobwebs and the dust motes, he’s surrounded by snatched items of past residents and snippets of what was left of his grandfather’s house. He fiddles with the rings he stole from Giovanni. Over the two days he had started to return things to their proper places while Giovanni slept. He doesn’t know where to put the pair of them, the bands of metal too precious to leave just anywhere… or at least that is what he tells himself. Having the twin bands in his hand is a new level of guilt that he wants to be rid of. However the rings are yet another boundary he shouldn’t have crossed, another apology he doesn’t know how to say.

 

There are footsteps directly below him and he’s only poked his head down once to see what his housemate was doing. Something with clothes and a suitcase. The sight was enough for him to pull back into the attic before Giovanni could sense his presence like he almost always does when Cyrus lingers for too long. 

 

He doesn’t want to know where the man is going. It has to be far to require having his things packed and this would mark the first time since Giovanni had moved in for him to leave for longer than a handful of hours. How he’s still a gym leader when he’s gone for so long is a question he’s yet to find answers for especially when he’s learned that said gym is several regions away.

 

Giovanni hasn’t bothered to speak to him since that incident save for the one time, when over a day later after Cyrus had sequestered himself into the attic he’d heard Giovanni shouting his name.

 

Names are supposed to have power, so the old belief goes. And Cyrus believes that now when the sound of his name tugs at him, like a thread that’s tied around his very being, pulling him down to Giovanni until he could be in that man’s arms again. 

 

He stares down at the rings he’s too much of a coward to return and apologize for. He should have returned them when he first saw Giovanni agitated over their disappearance. But that was another time, back when the man was just a new bother to the void he’s long been settled in.

 

He wishes that his head would stop saying that now this is it. This is the start of Giovanni leaving for good.

 

One error, one momentary lapse of judgement and now he’s going to have to start all over. Maybe this time there’ll be no one else. Except when he tries to think of the rest of his existence with only an empty and dark home to drift through, there’s a gnawing ache that scrapes through him. Painful, as though he really and truly could feel his chest tighten until he’s ready to burst into a bloody mist. 

 

Perhaps this is why the dead and the living don’t often mix.

 

Cyrus jerks as the rings he was holding phase through his incorporeal hand and clatter to the floor. Of course this is his fault. Giovanni probably needs to get away from him after Cyrus’s awkward attempt at feeling real, using Giovanni as if he could be a substitute for a real heartbeat.

 

Cyrus doesn’t remember ever being so warm. He doesn’t remember ever being so aware of a beating heart even if it’s one that’s not his own. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s had arms wrapped around him or of a time when he’d clutched at someone’s back as though they were life itself.

 

Maybe Giovanni is going out house hunting for a place without a bothersome ghost in it.

 

There’s a creak of hinges and Cyrus nearly jumps into the air. He whirls around to find the trap door to the attic flung wide open and a rather dishevelled Giovanni glaring at him through the entrance. 

 

“I thought I heard something up here.”

 

None of the previous owners have ever been up here. It’s his sanctuary of sorts. His grandfather may be gone but the few relics Cyrus has left of him are tucked away here. An ache settles in around his ribs as Giovanni pulls himself up into the dusty space. Cyrus can’t seem to keep his eyes on Giovanni, looking around the room as if sitting there awkwardly would resolve the mess that is suddenly relevant with someone else in it.

 

But he’s too aware of Giovanni seated beside him, shifting about as he takes stock of their surroundings, humming in deep interest when he undoubtedly spies something that’d disappeared ages ago. They could be brushing shoulders if Cyrus were still alive and still solid, the distance between them nothing more than a few centimeters, but he could reach and reach for Giovanni and still never be able to take hold of his hand.

 

“I never knew I had an attic. I should have looked here when things started to go missing. Is this where you’ve been hiding yourself? Along with all of my belongings?” Giovanni picks up a mug, one of his favorites and brushes off the dust that’s gathered across its surface. 

 

Then the man goes still beside him when he finally spots the rings, glinting bright in what little light that’s managed to filter through the single grime covered window. He picks them up, one gold and one silver, turning them between his fingers. “I’ve been looking for these.”

 

“I know.” His eyes land on the floor, the knots his intestines are in forcing his mouth closed. Two mistakes now without an apology and of course Giovanni is here before Cyrus can find sufficient words about his errors.

 

“I’ve been looking for you too.”

 

He jerks, panic settling in. He really must have offended Giovanni if he’s being sought out. Perhaps pulling Giovanni against him into the awkward circle of his arms was his downfall. Making Giovanni come up here even though he clearly heard his name being yelled from the lower levels of the house feels like some nail being slammed shut into his coffin.

 

“I’m sorry.” Too loud, too something as Giovanni blinks at him.

 

“For taking my things?” It’s all too obvious that Giovanni knows what he means and Cyrus does them both the courtesy of saying nothing at all. There’s a sigh, one that stirs up motes that have already been sent drifting when Giovanni had unsettled everything in the attic with his very presence. The man has a way of sweeping into a place and creating chaos. 

 

“If it’s not for your bit of mischief with my belongings or for the cold or for locking me in the bathroom then you really have nothing to apologize for.” There’s a flash of realization that has a corner of Giovanni’s mouth curling in amusement. Cyrus finds himself drawn to that as well. 

 

His teeth clench, the sound of the strain of his jaw muscles is a wild roar in his ears. He doesn’t know what to do other than apologize a thousand times over or will himself out of existence. Shaking hands and awkward apologies don’t seem to do anything for the situation.

 

Then there is a warm hand covering his own.

 

“You really think you need to apologize for that?”

 

“It was unwanted and-”

 

There’s more touch, a hand that rests against his cheeks. Warm. Always warm and Cyrus finds himself leaning against that palm, feeling the calluses that are rough against his skin. He doesn’t remember when he’d closed his eyes, but he’s sighing feeling the knot in his chest unraveling in that one breath. 

 

“Who says it was unwanted?” Giovanni’s voice is so close and he can feel the heat of the other man’s breath warm against him. “If I hadn’t wanted it then I could have very easily pushed you aside.”

 

There’s more shared warmth, the first time he’s felt something like it in ages. Heat that flickers through his veins and lights through his lungs. He inhales and he smells Giovanni, the expensive cologne that he wears. The same scent that's been slowly taking over the house ever since Giovanni decided that the place would be his.

 

“Well sometimes pushing doesn’t work on me.”

 

There’s a soft chuckle that tickles against his forehead. “The real question is, Cyrus, did you want to be touched?”

 

“I-” his eyes flick open with the word and he’s unprepared for the minimal gap between their faces. He can’t focus on the whole of the face in front of him but even then he’s never been good at people and their emotions. Has he ever been this close to someone else? “I think I started it.”

 

“So that’s a yes.” Somehow Giovanni’s closer, the hand on cheek has moved to the nape of his neck, resting gently there and nudging him closer. Again, he closes his eyes, knowing what’s to come and lets it happen, breath hitching in his chest. Again his fingers curl into the fabric of Giovanni’s chest, tightening as though bracing himself and then loosening when he feels those lips against his, closing around his mouth and he’s breathing in Giovanni again, past the cologne when he smells traces of sweat and the mint of his toothpaste tasting sweet against his tongue. There’s the flutter of eyelashes against his as he melts against Giovanni, a hum that vibrates deep in his chest. 

 

They part and Cyrus is jittery and awkward under the weight of Giovanni’s hand still resting on the back of his neck. He swears every pound of his heart is some movement that twitches through his form. He whispers a sound he isn’t proud of as he is guided into Giovanni’s shoulder, a dead man gasping for air that does nothing to make him function. There are moments just filled with the overwhelming sound of his breaths before he shifts, wrapping his arms around Giovanni’s ribs and feeling the echo of the act returned.

 

“Of course it’d have to be with a ghost,” Giovanni murmurs into his hair. “How long are you going to stay this time?” 

 

“This is new for me, I’m not even used to being seen.”

 

“Well, I’m not used to dating a ghost.” 

 

“You’d want that?” He’s trembling. Fingers digging into Giovanni’s shirt again, certain he’d tear holes through it this time. “I doubt I would be the best option for a partner.” The cold, the invisibility, the only touch between them being these rare moments that he doesn’t know how to control.

 

Larger, much stronger hands close around his, gently shaking his grip loose so that Giovanni is pressing them against his chest, where he can still feel the steady beating of the man’s heart. “I doubt I’d be that great as a partner either.”

 

It’s strange. This is the only place in the house that he could call his now and yet he’s not bothered by Giovanni’s presence in his space. An addition to the things that he’s gathered here through the years, all the memories and items that have come to mean so much to him. 

 

“Then… you won’t be moving?” He can barely speak above a whisper, but the question burns so hot in his chest, bursting forth form the pressure. 

 

Giovanni stares at him, a dark crease between his brows before his mouth twists into a lopsided grin. “Moving would mean conceding defeat. I refuse to accept anything but an absolute victory.”

 

“You’ve been packing.”

 

“I’m leaving, yes.” There’s a sudden stab in his chest, but Giovanni is quick to continue on. “Only for a few days. I’m going on a trip for some annual meet up between gym leaders.”

 

I don’t want you to leave, he almost says and realizes how unnecessary it is to even speak as somehow Giovanni already knows. He holds on tight to Giovanni, as though that would be enough to keep him anchored here with him. But of course that would be futile. Soon he’ll lose form and there’ll be no reason for Giovanni to stay.

 

*

 

From Sinnoh to Kanto it’s barely an hour long flight and Giovanni is already restless by the first half hour. First class with an entire row for himself and he fidgets about like he’s a boy unable to keep still. A flight attendant comes by with drinks and is instantly shooed away by a dark glower. Left alone with his thoughts again, he stares moodily out the window into an endless sea of white clouds. He might be here in the plane in body, but the rest of him -- mind, heart and soul, all of it is back at that home he’d made for himself miles and miles away. 

 

What has he gotten himself into? 

 

He rubs at his forehead and pulls his hand away to stare at the familiar weight of his ring -- singular. The silver ring he’d picked up in the attic and slipped around his finger when before there’d been a pair of them. But he’d left the other one where he’d found it. A keepsake, a reminder and a reassurance to the man he’d tied himself to that he’d be back for the ring at the very least. 

 

An entire lifetime spent avoiding this very nonsense and here he is wanting to be in a relationship and with a dead man of all things. Never mind all the disadvantages that’d come with being with someone like Cyrus, there was also the fact that to have any sort of future with him he’d be tied to that one small house for the rest of his life. 

 

Who is Cyrus? 

 

He supposes one of the few benefits of this entire deal is that he really doesn’t have to worry about some odd specter of Cyrus’ past coming back to haunt them. It’s not as though dating a ghost would be something any of the tabloid journalists would run for the sake of a scandal since save for a select few, not many believed in such things. 

 

Still the question remains. The mystery of the man he’s chosen and there must be a reason for why there’s such a mystery. He pulls out his laptop and hesitates, remembering the files Archer had left on his computer before he’d departed for this trip. All the surveillance footage they’d filmed for the past few weeks meant to catch his intruder on camera and rendered pointless now. 

 

Still he’s clicking on the first file, bringing up a video of his living room where he sees quite clearly the bright and hovering image of Cyrus right there above his coffee table, looking irate over some sin Giovanni is certain he’s committed in order to earn such ire. He looks at the timestamp and snorts, ah yes, he remembers now. Something to do with his first foray into trying to exorcise his ghost with candles. Off camera, his kitchen should be flooded with a hundred tiny flickering flames of the wax candles he’d picked up that day. 

 

He clicks through a few more, mouth curving at the sight of what the day in a life of a ghost is apparently like, which is to say, not very busy at all. It’s a strange window to Cyrus that he’d never considered. Still, it gave him no real answers. 

 

He does what every suitor does after a while and searches up the single clue that he has, the name. He doesn’t expect much when he isn’t even certain if he has a first name or a last name or if what Cyrus had given him is a pseudonym. 

 

Instead, he gets pages upon pages of results and the related images are all of a very familiar face. 

 

Just from the gist of the top ten links, he realizes that Cyrus is a rather infamous man and it all comes rushing back to him. Of course. Why hadn’t he put it all together? Sinnoh. Cyrus. That incident several years ago when one man and his ambitions had nearly toppled the entire world. He reads the first trustworthy article he comes across and learns so much. All this information and there’s nothing buried in these dozens of paragraphs about what had happened to Cyrus in the end.

 

He knows the eventual result, he just wonders at the path that’d led Cyrus to it. 

 

According to the child and the champion who’d defeated him, there’d been something to do with a legendary pokémon, a monstrous creature thought to only have been a myth and some alternate world. 

 

‘Refusing to accept his defeat and the reality of the real world, he chose to remain in the Distortion World with Giratina.’ So says the Champion Cynthia and nothing else after that. Nothing conclusive as to what might have happened to Cyrus. 

 

He leans back against his seat in time to hear the overhead chime followed by the captain making an announcement that they would be landing in Saffron and for all passengers to stow away their personal devices and bags. The final image at the very bottom of the article stays with Giovanni long after he’s closed his laptop, a photograph of a man with cold eyes and a cold expression staring out at him from the screen. 

 

*

 

This time, Morty meets him at a cafe after the conference. Just like before, he doesn’t seem surprised at all by his request as they sit down at a corner in the coffee shop. Giovanni orders his drink black while Morty chooses some disgustingly sweet concoction. 

 

“Since you’ve once again asked to meet with me, I’m assuming this has to do with your ghost and since you seem less agitated than before, I’ll also assume that things have taken a good turn for the two of you?” There’s almost a hint of a smile when Morty speaks then he’s taking a long sip of his drink. 

 

“You could say that.” Here he’s sitting across one of the few people who actually believes in ghosts, specializes in their existence in fact and still he doubts he’ll ever be able to admit that he’s entered some sort of relationship with the very thing this boy studies. “I have questions of course.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“This ghost of mine. He’s recently… well, we’ve managed an accord of some sort, so we’ve been coexisting peacefully now, but there have been instances where he’s…. I suppose you could say taken physical form. Basically I’ve been able to touch him.” 

 

More than simply touch, but Giovanni’s hardly going to share the details of his tryst with Cyrus, of the press of a body clutching desperately to him. As though Cyrus needed him to exist. He feels the weight of his ring again even when he keeps his gaze on the boy seated across from him. What would it be like to take Cyrus to places like these? To sit with him at a cafe? Or to a park where he can finally get some sunshine. His chest tightens painfully at the thought of Cyrus alone back in the house. 

 

At least he has the satisfaction of seeing pure shock take hold of the young man who’s been so unflappable in these past few encounters. Morty sits up straight, his iced coffee left forgotten on the table. “He’s become solid?”

 

“Yes, something like that. I can touch him, he can touch me. It only lasts for a few hours at most and it only seems to happen when he’s extremely emotional. Is this normal? Is there a reason for it?”

 

There’s a gleam in the boy’s eyes that Giovanni already loathes, as if he knows precisely what’s been happening, but to his credit he keeps those thoughts to himself. Instead Morty manages to compose himself, both hands wrapping around his drink once again. “It’s far from normal. In fact I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard of such a thing happening. I mean, there are stories, but it’s always been believed to be old wives’ tales within the paranormal community. If every average ghost could take on a physical form, I’d think we’d have a problem on our hands considering the more malicious ones that linger.”

 

In other words, the boy had zero clue. Giovanni barely manages to hold back a snort, but he’s certain by the boy’s sheepish expression that his poker face has failed him. Twice now he’s asked the boy for his expertise and twice he’s received nothing. 

 

“I’ll say this much…” Morty says while tapping a finger to his chin. “I’ve met plenty of ghosts in my time, I even have a number of them residing in my gym and yours… doesn’t really sound like a ghost at all.”

 

Now it’s Giovanni’s turn to look surprised. “He’s not a ghost.” 

 

The boy shakes his head. “I could sense him before and he never really felt like any ghost I’d encountered and now this… well, it seems almost psychic in power.”

 

He stares at his coffee, suddenly wishing for something a little stronger since alcohol would be the only spirits he’d be in the mood to deal after all this. 

 

“I think,” Giovanni finally says. “That I should have invited Sabrina along as well.”

 

*

 

Why on earth did he think he wanted this?

 

It’s far past his usual odd hours of sleep and the old wood of the house’s structure creaks ominously in the chill of the night.  
He’s tried staring up at the ceiling. He’s tried reading. He’s tried walking around the house. He’s tried tossing and turning and closing his eyes to welcome oblivion.  
It’s so boring here.

 

Cyrus heaves a great sigh to the exposed rafters of the attic, wishing long seconds would pick up speed until he once again hears the front door open. He’s forgotten about boredom and anticipation. His waiting has been for dread recently. A first box introduced into the house meant another person he wasn’t ready to deal with.

 

And now a ring glints in the little light left in the attic that is his one promise for Giovanni’s return. Things always change far too quickly. From fighting to worry to holding the broken remains of some twisted relationship in his hands. He wonders when he became some bystander to a connection. When he reached out to link with Giovanni of all people. When did something like that become so important?

 

A flash his grandfather’s warmth, of when suddenly that was taken away. The empty house creaking around Cyrus is all that is his anymore. A gift. A purpose. Who else can take care of it?

 

He knows the answer. The same man who asked him if bringing the house down was an option. The same man who held him close. The same man who’s done more for the house than he has recently. The bathroom will be redone, all the parts and pieces of the house that’s long since been in need of repair suddenly being looked at by far too many professionals. Cyrus hates the amount of foot traffic and the strangers coming into a place he’s guarded so fiercely for so long, but for Giovanni’s sake, he’s kept to his last sanctuary rather than resume his old habits. 

 

He sucks in a breath that he doesn’t need, but the sudden cold he’s never felt cuts into his soul. Cyrus sags forward, pulling his knees to his chest. There’s an ache that knots every part of his body and for one wild second he thinks he’s sick. The world is spinning and he might vomit at any moment. Ridiculous, there’s nothing in him to empty out, but the ache is still there. It hurts. It hurts too much and Cyrus hugs himself tighter, eyes squeezed shut. It’s too much. He just wants it all to stop. Why does he feel so weak? 

 

He’s sick of the attic and hiding in the dark and allows himself to sink, taking the ring with him. Down past the ceiling and cobwebs until he in the one source of comfort he can find in the house now that Giovanni is gone. The bed barely shifts under his nonexistent weight, but the sheets rustle and Cyrus falls over onto his side, pulling the blankets up to his chin. 

 

The bed and the sheets still smell like Giovanni even when the housekeeping lady had already changed everything and fluffed up the pillows. Everything about this room smells like Giovanni and if he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine being back in his arms again. Almost, since nothing is as good as the real thing. Blankets are a poor substitute for the strong arms wrapped around him, blankets are nothing compared to the warmth that’d radiated from Giovanni, the soothing sound of his voice. He wants it all back so badly.

 

Minutes tick by and those become hours. Cyrus watches the slow progression of shadows along the wall. Downstairs the door opens and shuts again and he hears the sound of a vacuum going and the obnoxious music the lady plays now that she assumes the house is empty. She doesn’t bother to come upstairs again since she’d already seen to this area the other day. Good, Cyrus can be left alone for now. 

 

But he’s not sure how much time continues on. The clock on the wall presses forward, day becomes night and then day again and it all blurs together. Before, in those months between the house being sold and bought and sold again, he remembered a life of near nonexistence, hardly cognizant of his surroundings, becoming more of a shade rather than a spirit. 

 

Now with Giovanni, even when he doesn’t need breath, even when he doesn’t have blood, he’s never felt more alive. If only he could simply fade into the background again and while away the hours until the man who’d disturbed and changed everything returns. 

 

The sound of the front door slamming shut jerks him back into awareness. Cyrus blinks as he stares at the far wall, wondering just how long he’d been like this. A calendar of cats hung on a wall closest to the desk Giovanni had managed to squeeze into the room, but he couldn’t be bothered to try and look. His body feels heavy and he blinks tiredly at the curtains, light poking it’s way through the fabric. The house stays silent after the initial thud and with time Cyrus begins to suspect he imagined the sound. He shifts his hands from underneath the blankets to take a look at the ring for a moment before closing his eyes again. He must be desperate if his imagination is distorting reality to fake Giovanni’s return.

 

The pain tightens a fraction and he turns his face into the pillow as if that comfort would do anything to lessen the ache under his ribs. 

 

The bed dips and Cyrus turns before consciousness catches up with him. He opens his eyes to stare stupidly at unfocused color and hums when warmth settles against his jaw. His own hand comes to rest atop the much larger one and he feels the rough skin of calluses and scars beneath his fingers. He blinks until he recognizes who he’s looking at, his fingers twitching around the ones that cup his face. He doesn’t know what to do with the smile stuck on Giovanni’s face or the utter adoration that Giovanni wears so openly. Anything other than breathing may break the spell the man is under.

 

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Giovanni says and his thumb traces along Cyrus’ bottom lip. “Or should I say good night?” He glances over to the digital clock on the nightstand and shrugs at the answer he finds there. “I guess I’m back quicker than I thought it’d take.”

 

He bites the inside of his lip before he struggles up, head spinning with the effort. He sits for a second, finding balance for a moment before his head falls forward into Giovanni’s shoulder. “Welcome home.” He swallows his feelings about Giovanni’s return, unsure what kind of words he would use to express such a thing. “Looks like the plane did it’s job correctly.”

 

There’s a snort and those same strong arms are wrapped around him again. If only he could burrow even deeper into Giovanni, inhale that scent that he’s been trying to find so desperately for the past few days. “I’ll be sure to send a thank you letter to the pilots when I get the chance. I take it that you missed me?” 

 

“Hm, I don’t know.” His fingers are digging into Giovanni’s shirt, trying to pull him even closer. Giovanni chuckles, a dark rumble that Cyrus can feel, but the sound is enough that the tight knot in Cyrus’s chest finally loosens. He’s still dazed that this is real. Dazed and confused and afraid that he might wake up and find himself alone in a dark and empty house again. He pulls Giovanni down onto the bed, twisting around to listen to the man’s heartbeat. It's his one grip on reality until he feels a hand combing through his hair.

 

“Don’t think I’ll be able to unpack then.”

 

“Probably not.”

 

The hand through his hair never stops and he drifts again, this time content. Happy. Cyrus can’t remember the last time he’s felt this whole. Certainly not before in that half-life and he has his doubts he’d ever been like this back when he was actually alive. His grandfather and those moments in this house when he’d been allowed to escape were all that he could pluck from his memories that were comparable. 

 

“What happened to you, before?”

 

He snaps out of his thoughts, pulling away to stare at Giovanni who’s been watching him. Ghosts shouldn’t be able to blush, but he feels his cheeks warm. Just how long has that man been watching him? His embarrassment is enough to almost distract from the question, but Giovanni’s still staring at him with expectation in his eyes and Cyrus realizes that the man wants an answer. 

 

“What does it matter?” He falls back against Giovanni, an excuse not to look him in the eye. “It happened and here I am.”

 

“It’s just that I came by some interesting information about you.” The hand in his hair slides down to rest against his back, still just as comforting there, but the sensation brings a shiver down his spine. He’s never been touched like this and it’s too new and too foreign. 

 

“I highly doubt your sources.” He wonders why it matters to him so much to keep his secrets so close to his heart. Especially with Giovanni, this is a losing battle. He’d lost it the moment Giovanni had set his mind into digging up the sordid details of his past. This is what he’s beginning to understand about this man, but it makes sense. It’d take a stubborn fool to engage in a battle of wills against a ghost and expect to win. 

 

“The person I spoke with is quite renowned in his field.” Giovanni says and props himself up on his elbows, a hand coming under Cyrus’ chin to tilt his head upward again. 

 

“And what did he tell you about me?” He sits up now, arms folded across his chest. Already, he misses the comfort of Giovanni’s warmth, but it’s difficult to let himself rest against a man who’s starting to aggravate him with all these pointless questions. 

 

“Well, he said something about you not actually being dead.” 

 

Seconds pass between them before Cyrus breaks eye contact. Giovanni certainly wouldn’t be lying about this and there is no curve of a smile gracing the man’s features to give him away. Granted the man has an impressive poker face, but he can't imagine Giovanni being this needlessly cruel. He separates from Giovanni’s warm hold, backing up to see with clarity any break in the words just said to him. Cyrus’s elbows dig into the meat of his thighs as he curls to rest his chin into his palms, propping himself up on the cross of his legs.

 

“Why... Wouldn’t I be dead?”

 

“Well, the touching, for one. Also the fact that I’m able to see and hear you clear as day without spending my life training for interacting with the supernatural… Cyrus, a ghost expert should have been able to sense your presence and Morty barely got anything on you.” He hears a sigh from Giovanni. Then an unusual quiet falls between them, one that’s almost a barrier. A silence more tangible than he could ever hope to be. 

 

But these silences aren’t meant to last even when he wishes, prays, with such desperation that things could stay as is before Giovanni’s curiosity drags them to the dark parts of his memories he’d rather not face. He feels the question coming through the subtle way in which Giovanni moves, shifting in the bed to better deliver the thought that’s been plaguing him. “Do you remember dying?” 

 

The answer takes a small eternity to fall from his lips. “No.” Cyrus is almost tempted to say nothing else, but he feels the weight of Giovanni’s gaze. “I was fixing up the place like usual and then one day I was about to leave for more supplies and I realized I couldn’t go past the front door.”

 

“Sounds like you don’t go out much.”

 

“Well now I can’t. You really think I would keep trying to chase people out of here if I could leave on my own?”

 

There’s a hand that cards through his hair, more of that gentleness that Cyrus would never have expected from Giovanni. The touch is so unexpected, but welcome at the same time that Cyrus finds himself leaning closer to it. “Wouldn’t you have seen your own body?” Giovanni asks. “I think that might have been a dead give away.”

 

He pulls away, scowling at the terrible joke. “I figured I had died in my sleep and it had been moved before I decided to go under permanent house arrest.” He delivers his explanation in such a blunt tone, no emotion, his words are a knife without an edge cutting forcefully through these delusions that Giovanni is harboring.

 

There’s a huff of amusement, too half-hearted to be real and Cyrus can’t bring himself to see what might be on Giovanni’s mind. He already knows. No matter how casual they’re being about the subject, no amount of dark humor can truly make death easy. Even if he’s dealt with his own for years now. 

 

“It’s a little too late to start grieving for me.” He keeps his tone light. Here he is making an effort in comforting someone upset about his own death, there’s something especially twisted about that. “You missed the funeral by about half a decade now, assuming I have the time right. I’m not sure.”

 

“I’m sure it was to die for.”

 

“Very funny.” Cyrus rolls his eyes. Good to know that he’s not going to be alone in this relationship in using inappropriate humor to cope. Truthfully he has no idea if there’d even been a funeral. The only person who would have cared to hold one for him died before he did. But he hopes that he’d been buried beside his grandfather.

 

“Also,” Giovanni says, cutting into his thoughts, “every good ghost supposedly dies with salt, and we both just got pissed when I wasted a fifty pound bag on you.”

Cyrus snorts, being pelted with the stuff had been nothing more than an annoyance. It was Giovanni who got chewed out by his housekeeper for making such a mess. One of the few instances where Cyrus hadn’t been the one at fault for making her life harder.

 

Giovanni’s arm wraps around his shoulders before he is pulled back down to lay on the man’s chest.

 

“I really don’t know what else I could be other than a ghost.”

 

“You can just be Cyrus, that’s really all that matters.”

 

“Tell that to everyone who comes over to you yelling at nothing.” His head bounces to the rhythm of Giovanni’s laughter. It trails off with a sigh and Cyrus is left to listen to heartbeats. The conversation hangs finished and it takes a moment for him to pull himself back together.

 

“I guess I’ll let you sleep, you must be tired after your trip.” Or so he says. The words seem empty when neither of them move.

 

“Is that what you want?” Giovanni asks quietly.

 

“Is that what you want?” he's trying so hard and failing from sounding hopeful. “This is your bed.”

 

Time is neverending in those few moments before Giovanni’s arm squeezes him closer instead of letting go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, an update to a Halloween fic in December. Hope you guys are at least enjoying the shenanigans!
> 
> Bonus points to you guys if you manage to spot a reference to another ACS fic we snuck in there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddles, renovations, and *coughs* heartbreak...

Giovanni must be able to sleep through anything.

 

It's the only logical explanation for how the man stays curled around him for nearly twelve hours, snoring softly and pulling closer in between dreams. Cyrus’s back is so very warm with Giovanni pressed against him. No wayward elbow or surprise knee to a soft body part ever seems to be enough to stir Giovanni from his slumber. It’s fortunate that they live in a part of Sinnoh that’s not prone to natural disasters since Cyrus doubts even a raging hurricane would be enough to wake the man. 

 

Every time he starts to fade Giovanni somehow knows even when tangled so tightly in his dreams, he manages to always yank Cyrus back to the realm of the tangible and real, arms closing even tighter around Cyrus. With how adamant a sleeping Giovanni is in squeezing the life out of him, Cyrus thinks it’s fortunate that he no longer has to breathe.

 

Sharing a bed together shouldn’t be this easy when they’re both men who’ve rarely had to share personal space before. Cyrus has certainly never bothered and from what little he’s gathered from Giovanni’s few confessions, his housemate-turned-into-something-more has never been this intimate with another person either. Giovanni’s been with others of course, but he’s never bothered to spend a night with them. 

 

The knowledge sits like a burning piece of coal in his belly, stirring his insides into something wonderfully warm and leaving him feeling cozier than a fireplace on the coldest Sinnoh winter nights. When Cyrus spends most of the night studying the hard lines of Giovanni’s body and the way the moonlight and the dark turns his partner mostly into shadow, he has to wonder what makes him such an exception. He has too many questions when nightfall comes.

 

Giovanni’s complaints about the cold seem to mean nothing now when he has his arms wrapped around him like this. Cyrus traces the lines of art forever inked into Giovanni’s arms. His icy fingers cause no reaction to the arms holding him captive against Giovanni’s chest. Nothing but the most content grumble that vibrates against his body.

 

He sighs as Giovanni’s thighs push against the back of his own, Giovanni curls even further around him, every inch of his back warmed by the heat of life. Hot breaths puff against the back of his neck that send a shiver down his spine each time. At night, he’s been turned into a trembling prisoner held tight in those strong arms. He curls forward to escape those breaths, but Giovanni seems almost stuck to his back. He groans a complaint and immediately grows still when he hears the sound of Giovanni chuckling behind him.

 

“You ass,” Cyrus grumbles.

 

“Did I find your weak spot?” Another hot breath over his neck has Cyrus squirming. The comfortable warmth in his belly suddenly turns into a searing heat that reaches all the way to his cheeks. He doesn’t need to turn around to know the triumphant smirk that Giovanni must be wearing since he can practically feel it. That insufferable ass. He pushes once more against the arms that hold him and finally Giovanni let’s him go, nearly sending him toppling face first into the pillows. 

 

He rolls back up, glaring at Giovanni who’s propped up on an elbow, eyes still heavy with sleep though it has absolutely no effect on that infuriating smile of his. So much for the man’s ability to sleep through anything.

 

“How long have you been awake?” He’s still glaring, but Cyrus wonders how much of everything that Giovanni had been awake for, the subtle touches, the quiet admiration of the body against him, everything he would never do if he were aware that Giovanni had only been pretending to sleep. 

 

“Not very long. Why, were you doing something embarrassing? Something I could help you take care of?” The suggestive eyebrow lift is enough for Cyrus to know exactly what the man means. He’s eternally grateful that Giovanni had the decency to go to bed wearing pants. Though with the way Giovanni had been grumbling the entire time he made wearing a single article of clothing seem like a great concession was being made. 

 

“No!” He snaps his mouth shut, far too aware that this is more of Giovanni’s teasing. The man likes to do that for reasons beyond him. Even if they’re supposed to be something more now, with all of the confessions and the fact that he’s currently in possession of Giovanni’s ring, still this aggravating man enjoys goading him.

 

“Shame, I would have liked to help.” A hand on his arm brings his attention back to Giovanni and his heart stutters to a stop at the affection he finds there, far too genuine and open. So bright and obvious even in the dark that he feels his cheeks warming again. The mattress shifts under him and Giovanni has followed him across the bed, them leaving barely an inch of space between their bodies. There’s a hand on his back, pressing him close and Cyrus closes his eyes, feeling warm lips against his forehead. 

 

“How long have you been awake?” The question is whispered against his hair, but Cyrus is so pleasantly warm that it takes him far too long to realize that he’s supposed to say something. He pulls away again to look at Giovanni, wondering if the man is up to something. 

 

“A few hours,” he decides on being honest. There’s no point in lying and he doesn’t see the issue if he sleeps or not when he no longer requires rest. It’s Giovanni who seems to forget far too often that Cyrus is no longer alive, but it’s not a reminder he feels like giving now. “I’ve never been one to sleep for very long.”

 

“Hmmm, no. You don’t strike me as the type who seems to sleep a lot.” There’s suddenly fingers carding through his hair and Cyrus buries his face into the crook of Giovanni’s neck, breathing in the scent of him. No more expensive colognes or cigarette smoke, this is Giovanni, who somehow still carries that earthy scent of the wood long after he’d showered.

 

“What were you thinking about?” Giovanni’s voice interrupts his thoughts and Cyrus blinks, surprised that his eyes were closed. Had he really nearly fallen asleep? 

 

“What do you mean?” His own question is muffled against Giovanni, but the soft chuckle is enough for him to know that Giovanni had heard him anyway. 

 

“If you were awake the entire time we were in bed then you must have been thinking some deep thoughts.”

 

Again with this need to know his history. He doesn’t understand why his past means so much to Giovanni when it’s quite clear to him that he’d done his research. Everything that there is to know about Cyrus Akagi, everything that’s important and worth knowing is out there, easily found with the simple click of a button. And here is Giovanni, still playing twenty questions. He scowls against Giovanni, but his displeasure must have been obvious in someway when the arms around his body tighten and he’s pulled even closer. There’s another kiss to the top of his head and Cyrus thinks of how unfair it is that Giovanni can quite easily wring the aggravation right out of him like this. 

 

“I wasn’t thinking of anything in particular.” Time knots i nto messy thoughts that he can’t separate into words. “Mostly I was just trying to not wake you up.” He finally stretches, limbs popping with the movement. The sound must have been too much for Giovanni when suddenly the arms around him loosen and are gone, leaving Cyrus feeling far too cold in the absence of that heat. 

 

“You don’t have to indulge me like this if you don’t want to,” Giovanni rises, the blankets around him settling into his lap to reveal the full glory of his tattoos. There’s supposed to be some significance to each inked line, though that’s knowledge Cyrus already knows with no help or hint given from Giovanni. Maybe he’ll request a book or two from him the next time Giovanni leaves for some errand. He’s certainly exhausted the many that line the bookshelves already.

 

“I’m the one taking away all your body heat, so I doubt this is an indulgence.” There’s more shifting that has Cyrus dipping and bobbing along with the mattress until he finds Giovanni resting against the headboard, pillows piled beneath him as he sits with his arms folded beneath his head. It doesn’t help that he has no idea what the man is thinking, the dark does nothing and the impenetrable pokerface is clearly in place. Will there ever be a time when Cyrus will ever be able to understand this man he’s sharing a bed with, it doesn’t seem likely now. 

 

“What’s it like to sleep with an ice cube?” he asks with a small smile.

 

“You’re not so cold when you’re like this.” A hand rests on his arm, that brief link enough to send a jolt through his chest. “Of course, cuddling with a snowman in Sinnoh isn’t that comfortable, especially when he’s more of a skeleton than actual flesh. Did you ever eat when you were alive?”

 

“I was never very good at taking care of myself. I skipped a lot of meals to keep working on projects.” There’d been plenty of them too. Enough of them that Cyrus wonders what became of the ones he’d left behind. The death of an idea seems more tragic than the actual death of a person, but time can heal even those wounds. 

 

There’s a sudden arm around his shoulders and Cyrus only has a second to register that fact when Giovanni is hauling him up to join him, leaving him sprawled against Giovanni’s bare chest with his ear pressed against a particular floral pattern of golden ink. His hand rests against Giovanni’s belly for purchase if only to keep himself from sliding off, but he’s too aware of the muscles that are suddenly twitching beneath his palm. 

 

“Did I find a weak spot?” Cyrus teases, not quite echoing Giovanni as he doubts he can ever match the level of smarminess the man can manage. But it still nets him results when there’s an answering growl and Giovanni pounces. Cyrus’ back thuds against the mattress, the two of them bouncing with the squeak of bedsprings and he finds himself laying flat, staring up at a Giovanni who’s smirking down at him, victory in his eyes. 

 

“You’re going to have to try harder than that to find my weaknesses.” Giovanni’s mouth is a brand against his skin, kisses press against the curve of his neck with such speed and intensity that it steals his breath away. Cyrus squirms, fingers digging into the sheets and he closes his eyes, letting go of the blankets for his one hope. His hand finds Giovanni’s belly again, pressed flat against those muscles and then his fingers graze up and Giovanni jerks away, breath caught in his throat, a wild look to his eyes. 

 

“I’m fairly certain that I’ve found one.” Cyrus follows Giovanni, a corner of his mouth twitching upwards, his hand still pressed against those responsive muscles. Frankly, for this to be Giovanni’s weakness as though he were some cat or dog is almost adorable. It takes a gentle nudge and Giovanni is nearly on his back, elbows keeping him propped up and Cyrus climbs onto his lap. “It’s alright to have one, I won’t tell.” 

 

The startled expression that Giovanni wears only lingers for a heartbeat more, then it melts away into a look of pure and unadulterated fondness as he gazes up at Cyrus. A look that has Cyrus growing still, chest tightening at what he sees. He still can’t believe that someone would look at him like that as though he were deserving of such affection. 

 

“Kiss me,” Giovanni demands though to Cyrus’ ears, it sounds more like pleading. 

 

And he does exactly as Giovanni wants, unable to snuff out the warm smile that blossoms across his features as he leans down, his weight enough to press Giovanni back against the bed as he closes his mouth around Giovanni’s. 

  
  


*

 

He wakes up sore the next day and almost counts it as a blessing when he finally loses form. 

 

“You’re more solid these days.” It isn’t the first time that Giovanni’s made the observation, but it’s edging into an old discussion he’s tired of having. They haven’t fully buried the possibility of his death not being an actual death since the last time they’d argued over it. Or rather, their version of arguments these days being Giovanni getting heatedly passionate about a subject while following a fleeing Cyrus through the house. It’s better than how it used to be, with the missing items and burst pipes. 

 

As usual, he chooses to ignore the comment. What does it matter if he’s a ghost or not? His default state is to be incorporeal, the fact that a few hours a day he manages to gain form doesn’t erase the fact that he’s no longer in possession of a body. Even if his body were somewhere out there, it’s not as if Giovanni would be able to find it either. He’s certain there’d be some scrap of news about the most infamous man in Sinnoh, something that would make headlines and Cyrus hasn’t heard a whisper about himself in years. 

 

“You’re an infuriating man. If your theory that I gain form is due to intense emotions is true then it makes sense that I would be more tangible these days.” The best way to draw Giovanni’s attention from the topic at hand is to provoke him. It’s almost sad how quickly and easily he falls for it, hook, line and sinker.

 

“So you like someone?” Of course there’s also these teasing questions that Giovanni fully knows the answer to by now with the way their relationship has progressed. The answer to this is nearly always looking away with an exaggerated frown plastered to his face. Giovanni chuckles and stretches across the bed, all cat-like and satisfied with himself. After last night’s performance, he has good reason to be.

 

“Intense emotions doesn’t necessarily equal liking anyone. Intense emotion could mean complete and utter aggravation at a certain man’s behaviour.” He crosses his arms though little good that would do when he’s not certain that Giovanni can see him now. Though his housemate (friend? Lover? Cyrus has no idea how to define their relationship now) seems to have developed a keener eye for these things even when the morning’s rays are slanting bright through his form. 

 

“It’s flattering regardless that I’ve managed to mean something to you at least.” Giovanni yawns again and then manages to haul his entire bulk into a sitting position, basking in the warm square of light that’s fallen across their bed. Even though Giovanni’s gained a better sleep schedule, he’s still slow moving in the mornings. Cyrus supposes it’s still a victory.

 

“What are your plans for today?” He hovers a distance from Giovanni, too reluctant to sap what warmth the man must be enjoying with his presence. It hurts that he can’t be near him sometimes. 

 

“I have a date with a contractor. About a certain bathroom that met with an unfortunate accident a few weeks ago.” Giovanni shoots a pointed look in Cyrus’ direction and finally stands, stretching once again while making such satisfying groans that they almost sound obscene. Likely he was doing it on purpose. 

 

“It was about time it was renovated.” He refuses to feel guilty for past actions that had a purpose. The fact that he’s come to tolerate Giovanni’s presence now, perhaps even grown fond of him changes nothing about what he’d been trying to accomplish. He’s only glad that he’d butt heads against a man who’d been willing to wage war with a ghost. He doesn’t want to think what the house would be like empty again. He doesn’t want to think about a life without Giovanni now. 

 

“True, I was never fond of the tiles. Still, I was hoping I could get a few months at least to enjoy my new place before I would have to start gutting it.” For all his complaining, Giovanni’s wearing an amused smile as he pads over to his closet, flinging it open to reveal rows upon rows of shirts. Cyrus has the strong suspicion the next project Giovanni might have would be to expand the size of his closet. 

 

“If we’re having visitors, I guess that means I’m banished to distant corners of my own home.” He realizes with a start that it’s been a while since he’d gone back to the attic. What was once his refuge and sanctuary is now nothing more than another space in the house. If anything, it’s Giovanni’s room that’s become his new haven. 

 

“Well, I don’t see why you would have to stay hidden. Unless our contractor happens to be a psychic stronger than even Morty, I think you’ll remain safely unseen.” 

 

He watches as Giovanni goes through his usual morning routine that he’s become accustomed to, first the shower then the hundred calls and messages that he takes while sitting on his bed. He understands now that most of these have nothing to do with his gym and something far more nefarious, but Cyrus has never really cared for whatever illicit activities that Giovanni does so long it doesn’t endanger him or the house. 

 

After that they both relocate to the kitchen, where Giovanni busies himself with his coffee and whatever passes for breakfast that day. It’s occurred to Cyrus that he could make this man breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. He has all the time in the world to do it and there’s a fully stocked fridge even when Giovanni refuses to take advantage of his stores and winds up throwing most of what he has away by the end of the week.

 

He watches and allows himself a fond smile when he knows that he can’t be seen. He could do it, spend the next few years taking care of this man who’d intruded in his life. He can see them sitting together during meals or in the living room quietly working together or even in the bedroom, slowly exploring each other’s bodies. Cyrus could be happy. 

 

*

 

“Well, at least you didn’t choose some obnoxious color.”

 

“Its tile, how bad could the colors get ?” 

 

They both stand before what was once a disaster zone of a bathroom, now completely redone and transformed into something that would fit Giovanni’s aesthetics or so the man claimed. It certainly seemed modern and appealing to the eye, with a new bath and shower, new toilet, essentially new everything after Cyrus had ruined it all before. 

 

He hadn’t expected for such a project to be done so quickly, but leave it to the professionals to demolish and put together a bathroom in only a few days. Of course his experience trying to lay tile in the kitchen so many years ago for the first time wouldn’t be the same as someone who does that sort of thing for a living.

 

“It does look nice.”

 

“It better, especially after the hole they made.” The flooring underneath the old tile had been unsalvageable, the old wood rotted and deteriorated with the years and further damaged with Cyrus’ antics. He’d studied the plans after the fact, both curious and also out of boredom during one of Giovanni’s excursions from the house. It gave him ideas of what else could be done to the rest of his home, all the rooms that needed fixing up when years of wear were taking their toll. 

 

“Next place will be the master bedroom,” Giovanni decides. Even though they’ve been standing and admiring the bathroom for well on thirty minutes now he still seemed reluctant to leave. As though he were admiring his own handiwork rather than the fact that he’d paid others to do it for him. 

 

“I was hoping you’d look into the kitchen next.”

 

“Oh?” Giovanni finally looks away from the bathroom. “What precisely is wrong with the kitchen?”

 

“Plenty. The sink’s water pressure for one. The fact that the cabinets and counters are ten years old, the fridge is in need of replacing. ” Once he starts, it’s nearly impossible for Cyrus to stop listing his grievances, all aggravations that have been building through the years as the house becomes worse and worse. Now, finally, there’s someone actually willing to put time and money into his home, to turn it into something better --

 

Cyrus lurches forward, a hand on his chest, suddenly short of breath. What was that? It’d felt as if something had grasped his lungs and squeezed. It made no sense especially since he wasn’t corporeal and still there’s the undeniable lightheadedness when he lacks the blood to feel so dizzy. 

 

“Cyrus?” He realizes too late that Giovanni is in front of him, calling his name. Fear so bright and palpable from a man normally so calm and collected that it sets Cyrus spiralling into another panic. He tries to calm his breath, but he has no lungs, no heart or lungs. He shouldn’t feel this terrible. He sinks to the ground and it does little to assuage the terrible ache that’s settled across his being. 

 

“Cyrus? Speak to me. Say something!” Giovanni tries to grasp his arms and hisses when his hands only pass through freezing air. 

 

He waits, words stuck in his throat as he squeezes his eyes shut until it passes. It feels like an eternity when he’s certain it must have only been a few moments. Then he’s looking up at Giovanni, who’s crouched before him hands hovering uselessly in front of him. Staring at him is almost a balm for his soul, enough for Cyrus to relax though he wishes that he could simply melt into Giovanni’s arms and let him hold him tight. 

 

“I’m fine,” he rasps. 

 

“The hell you’re not.” Giovanni looks as though he wants to shake him until the parts that are wrong with Cyrus are rattled out of his form. Instead he slumps back against the door frame, looking as though he were the one who’d suffered through… whatever it was that Cyrus had experienced. 

 

“This isn’t the first time this has happened,” Cyrus realizes and remembers the attic, the odd sickness that’d taken him then. He’d forgotten about it in the excitement of Giovanni’s return. Dismissing it as a one time thing and now this. 

 

“I’m calling Morty,” Giovanni declares and rises, phone in his hand as he wanders into the bathroom so that his voice echoes off the tiled walls. Cyrus barely has it in him to listen to the conversation, but it goes exactly as he expected even when he’s only hearing half of it. For a ghost expert, the gym leader seems to have little clue on what’s happening since this isn’t supposed to be normal. 

 

He closes his eyes and the world starts to blur, colours melting away into grey and sterile white and even Giovanni’s shouts drone into a high pitched tone... 

When he wakes, Cyrus finds himself on the floor of the living room, body heavy and head pounding. It takes everything just to sit up enough to see out the window, tinted with the blackness of the night. He scoots to lean back against the coffee table before working up the energy to pull himself to his feet and shuffle down the hall. 

 

He opens the door to Giovanni’s room and only gets one foot in the room before Cyrus is surrounded by a warm embrace, nearly toppling over from the force of a much sturdier body slamming into his.

 

“Uh… Hi?” His greeting is muffled by the chest he’s pressed face first into.

 

“Where were you?” There’s a trembling quality to Giovanni’s voice and when Cyrus finally pulls away to peer into the Giovanni’s face, he sees even in the low light that his eyes are tinged red. He blinks, mind trying to work itself into the causes for Giovanni’s appearance when he already knows the one and only obvious answer. 

 

Unfortunate that he doesn’t have one for Giovanni’s question.

 

“I don’t know.” He shrugs and Giovanni pulls him tight against his chest again. “One moment I was standing in front of the bathroom with you and the next I woke up in the living room.”

 

He lets himself be dragged to the bed, where Giovanni arranges them so that he’s seated in Giovanni’s lap, back pressed against his chest while Giovanni’s arms circle around him. As though that alone could be enough to prevent a repeat of what’d happened before. The hold on him is tight, a welcomed comfort after waking up on the floor but still strange in its own way.

 

The clock on the nightstand registers it to be the early hours of the morning. He would apologize for waking Giovanni up if it weren’t for the face buried in his shoulder. 

 

“Don’t ever do something like that on me again.” 

 

His heart is in his throat that tightens and constricts, squeezing until he’s certain he’s bleeding everywhere from the inside. He can’t make a promise that he knows that he can’t keep since this is new. So many years he’s existed as he is and he’s never experienced something so frightening. Non-existence is all he can call it, simply no longer being. Is it the price he has to pay for being able to pretend he has a body now? 

 

He swallows and can feel Giovanni’s arms tighten even more, holding him so close. With some struggling and a bit of effort, he manages to twist around so that he can bury his face into Giovanni, fingers curling into his shirt. 

 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” But deep down, the answer is there. A spark that flickers in his soul. Everything odd that’s happened to him all have this one man in the centre of it all. But how can he tell Giovanni that he’s likely the one hurting him like this?

 

“We’ll figure it out. Just stay with me.” Evidently Giovanni is the one the most disturbed by these circumstances, pulling Cyrus so close that they are nearly one in the same body. But even in those brief moments when he’d been face to face with Giovanni, he’d managed to catch a glimpse of the man’s exhaustion, those dark circles under his eyes, the way his movements are sluggish despite the adrenaline that’d likely been keeping him moving. 

 

“When was the last time that you slept?” Cyrus asks.

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Which was answer enough for Cyrus. Once again he’s pushing against Giovanni, who doesn’t resist. Still it’s a struggle to pull them both down to the bed until they’re under the covers and comfortable. Giovanni only allows for a few seconds of separation and then he’s back holding Cyrus, arms and legs tangled around him as though he were some sort of sea creature. 

 

No matter Giovanni’s stubborn nature, too many hours of no sleep wins and he succumbs to his most basic human need. His eyes fall shut and then flutter open again as though to make sure Cyrus is still there and finally he’s fast asleep and Cyrus is left awake, watching him in the dark.

 

The shadows shift and move across the bedroom as night becomes morning, Cyrus spends that time watching Giovanni until again, he hears the same drone, high and deafening in his ears.

 

His vision whites out.

 

When Giovanni wakes again, his arms are empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow... We are at January and 20k words later. Neither of us thought this fic would go on for so long and thanks to everyone for Joining us on this journey!
> 
>  
> 
> Need a place to rant about this work or just these two in general? Feel free to join the AbsoluteControlShipping discord using the link below!!
> 
> https://discord.gg/2FqypUw


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with life when it is suddenly emptier than it was yesterday leads to idle days that seem to stretch into forever.
> 
> Too bad Giovanni no longer has a ghost problem.

Giovanni stops himself from pouring yet another cup of coffee. The caffeine seems to be doing nothing about his energy and isn’t the answer for the deep pit of melancholy he’s fallen into.

Cyrus seems to just be… gone.

It’s been nearly two weeks since he’s seen the ghost and no amount of yelling around the house has brought him back. He spends most of his time staring at the empty space in his bed or wandering around the house, looking for cold spots. Everyday it’s the same, but to stop looking is to admit that there’s nothing that he can do. He has to keep trying.

The small stack of library books that he checked out still remain where he placed them on the breakfast bar, undisturbed and unread. Back when he thought Cyrus just needed something to focus on in order to keep his form. Passing thoughts like that one infest his mind in the night, making it impossible to sleep until he does something. The coffee he’s drank turns sour in his gut when he realizes that the books need to be returned tomorrow. 

Renovations wrapped up three days ago and the lack of anything to do has left him restless. There is nothing left here to fill the emptiness in his hands. Nothing left to distract him from the quietness of the house and the chill of Sinnoh’s winter seeping in through the cracks left in his home.

He’s done everything he could. Yesterday he even pulled out that stupid ouija board, of course the only thing he got was utter gibberish.

He ends up pouring himself another cup of coffee.

Persian pads over and becomes a welcome distraction for a few moments before the spoiled brat becomes overstimulated. He gets a warning nip before she slinks off again. Fickle thing. He would probably have to feed her again to keep some decent company.

He frowns at his once again empty mug and turns his wrist enough to catch that it’s not even noon. He wants Cyrus here. To tease, to talk to, to do something with that isn’t just staring at the wall.

There’s yelling outside. Muffled through distance and the walls of the house but it’s only growing louder with time. This neighborhood has mostly been silent through his stay here and with the lack of anything better to do he goes to the window to take a look. Might as well be nosy.

There’s a cab outside. The bright yellow car horridly dingy compared the bright white of undisturbed snow. The cabbie is nearly red in the face and screaming at a figure heavily leaning on a cane. Perhaps one of his older neighbors, he wouldn’t know. He hasn’t made the time to introduce himself with all the work he’s been doing just on the house. He hasn’t really needed the company since-

The cabbie jabs a finger into the shorter person’s chest and frail legs buckle, the figure falling backwards into the snow. Even with a heavy coat, the fallen person looks tiny in comparison to the man looming over them, still yelling.

This is getting out of hand. He’s disgusted even further as the cabbie does nothing while the cane bound person tries to use his mailbox as leverage to pull themself up. Giovanni grabs his coat and trudges outside.

“What seems to be the problem here?” He demands from the front porch.

“Son of a bitch keeps making excuses for an outdated card. Drove all the way out here and now he wants me to take him back into town. I’m not buying your shit story you crook.” The man snarls at the struggling figure. “There is no excuse for your damn card to be that out of date.”

The mailbox doesn’t have anywhere that would provide for a good grip and gloved hands slip on metal. The figure grunts as they land hard back into the snow.

“I’m telling you-” The fallen person begins and is interrupted when the cabbie kicks snow at them.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Giovanni finally makes it over to the two of them. The sight of a man nearly twice his weight is enough for the cabbie to stop, taking a step back when Giovanni looms over him with a dark look in his eyes. He doesn’t normally care for helping the helpless, but this is nearly literally happening in his backyard and he won’t stand for it when it’s on his territory. 

Violence isn’t the answer, contrary to what the cabbie thinks and what Giovanni feels. Two weeks of pining and hurting, he suddenly very much wants to put his fist into the vile man’s face and shatter a few teeth. But he’s managed to go through life without earning himself an official record, he won’t start now by giving into reckless impulse. No matter how satisfying it would be to feel the crunch of a broken nose.

Instead, he reaches into his pocket and finds his wallet and tosses several bills at the cabbie. That should be more than enough to cover whatever fare the helpless stranger has incurred and get one problem out of his hair. The cabbie’s nearly scrabbling along the ground trying to fetch the bills that’d fluttered out of his hands. He tosses Giovanni a final, wary glance and then he’s scrambling back for his taxi and peeling away as though Giovanni would actually give him chase down the street. 

Seeing the fear in the pathetic man’s eyes was almost enough to mollify his wounded soul, but it’s such a fleeting feeling. Filling him and emptying out immediately as though his body were full of holes. He may as well be with how raw he feels, every thought and memory of Cyrus sinking deep into his body as a blade. 

There’s rustling beside him and a soft groan that snaps Giovanni back to the present. Of course, he got rid of one problem, but he still has another to contend with. This time he knows that tossing money at it won’t be enough to provide an easy fix. 

He holds out a hand and immediately a much smaller one closes tight around his, tugging hard yet a few moments of struggle only seems to tire them out and Giovanni can hear the ragged breaths of a person pushed to their brink. He frowns at the stranger before pulling them up himself, barely an effort on his part. 

Now he has his first good look at the stranger he’d rescued without the distractions of an angry cabbie to monopolize his attention. But when they’re bundled under so many layers of winter clothing, Giovanni is still uncertain if he’s dealing with a man or a woman with the absurdly bulky and furry blue parka that they’re wearing.

“Thanks.” The voice is hoarse and barely audible behind an oversized pink scarf wrapped several times around the lower portion of their face. All he can really see are the stranger’s disturbingly blue eyes, peering at him from beneath the knitted grey touque pulled low over their forehead. The stranger’s gaze is a magnet that holds his attention, making it impossible for Giovanni to stare at anything else.

“Are you alright?” He asks, probably too late and unnecessary, but why should he care. He hadn’t come out here to be a good samaritan. 

“I think so.” The stranger bends down to grab their cane only to nearly topple over, both hands slamming hard against the ground to prevent another painful impact with ice and concrete. Giovanni internally cringes at how their wrists must ache now, it hadn’t been a gentle landing either. The bundle of winter gear moves with the sound of ragged breaths and he can clearly see how the stranger’s limbs are trembling. 

“I think not,” Giovanni says with a snort. This time he bends, hooking an arm around the stranger’s and even through the bulky layers of the parka, he still manages to feel how stick thin the stranger really is. Again, it hardly takes him any effort to have the stranger back on their feet and he grabs the cane, shoving it into the other’s hand. “Do you want me to call you another cab or do you live nearby? I can call someone to pick you up if you’d like.”

“I-” The stranger turns towards the house and pauses. The silence stretches long enough that Giovanni nearly repeats the question. 

“You live there?” he asks after another prolonged stare.

He would have preferred an actual answer to the question but the stranger keeps looking at his house instead. Wonderful, not only is he likely dealing with someone incapable of walking, but he’s also dealing with someone who must have some memory issue as well. It explains the outdated card if his suspicions prove to be true.

“Yes?” With the word the stranger seems to deflate, shoulders falling.

“Things really have changed…” The stranger mumbles before turning back to Giovanni. “I guess calling someone would be the best option, I’m certainly not fit for going through all this snow.” 

Not so incoherent after all. Giovanni stares at the stranger again, eyes narrowing as his fingers twitch to rip off that ridiculous headwear. Who is this person? A former resident of the house returned for a trip down memory lane? Seems unlikely when he remembers Cyrus…

His chest tightens at even the briefest stirring of memory.

“Well, I’m sorry to inform you that this is in fact my house.” He nods back to the property in question. Suddenly he’s too tired for this. All the heat and anger having extinguished into nothing but ashes. He tastes it on his tongue and only wants to go back inside to find something to drown the bitter taste away. 

“You’re welcome to come in.” He probably needs the distraction and the stranger will need a place to wait out the time it’d take for whoever they’re calling to pick them up. Without another glance, he trudges back to his home, pausing at the threshold as though half expecting for someone to be there to greet him. There’s no one there of course. 

The stranger is slow, unbearably so. They lean heavily on the cane as they shuffle through the snow. He regrets his decision as the stranger stops short of the porch to rest, doubled over their cane while struggling to draw breath. This has been going on for too long. Giovanni casts a doubtful look at the steps. There’s only three of them and with the way the stranger looks as though a gentle breeze could topple them over, he makes his decision. It’s not as if he cares about offending anyone’s delicate sensibilities right now.

Going back down the steps, he easily picks up the stranger, alarmed by how they weigh next to nothing when he carries them up the steps and then over the threshold. Once within, Giovanni shuts the door and lets the heat of his home wash over them both. His fingers and arms prick with warmth as he takes the stranger to his living room and deposits them in the comfiest chair. 

“Here,” he hands his cell phone over to the stranger since he’d yet to bother with a landline. “Call whoever you need.”

He doesn’t wait for the muffled thank you and retreats to an easy chair opposite of the stranger, where his empty mug sits abandoned. If he were in the mood to be a gracious host then he might think of making more coffee and offering some to his new guest. But Giovanni’s hardly in the mood for anything.

Seconds tick by, the old grandfather clock he keeps in the hall attest to the passage of time and the stranger only holds the phone in their hands, staring confused at it and then looking back at Giovanni. When the guest remains baffled by the piece of technology in their hand, Giovanni finds himself revising his original theory.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I-” Eyes go from him to the phone. “I don’t- oh wait.” A gloved finger pokes at the screen and Giovanni’s frown tightens.

“You have to use your actual finger.”

“Oh.” The gloves come off to reveal long bony fingers, pale from the cold. The stranger’s brow furrows at further attempts to simply press a button. “It's not working.”

So much for being comfortable. With a grunt he’s up, snatching the phone from incompetent hands. There’s only a blink in response from the stranger, more out of confusion than as a protest. 

“What’s the number?” It comes out closer to a growl than he intended but it only earns him a look before the stranger is listing off numbers. He recognizes the area code at least, it’s local. The stranger keeps shifting around as he types in the number. In the edges of his vision Giovanni sees the scarf as well as the hat placed onto the cushion next to them.

Whatever number he dials is evidently not in service when the only answer he gets is that familiar cordial female voice that informs him as much. Giovanni frowns as he stares down at the screen, double checking to make sure that he’d punched in the numbers right and then glances back at the stranger to confirm.

His phone clatters to the ground and he can’t even bring himself to care if he’s cracked the screen or not. Giovanni’s staring at the stranger. No. Not a stranger. Since he’s staring at an actual ghost. His hands tremble with such force that he clenches his fingers into fists, trying to keep himself under control. 

“Cyrus.” There’s no helping the shaking in his voice.

The blue eyes, so bright and vivid, so familiar, how could he have not recognized before? Those same blue eyes stare at him, the shadow between his brows deepening as Cyrus frowns, gaze darting over Giovanni’s shoulder and then back at him. 

“I’m guessing this isn’t deja vu then?” Cyrus asks.

Giovanni’s heart sinks and drops through his feet and through the world. He falls to his knees, the trembling spreading from his hands to the rest of his body. No. It can’t be. But he’s never been good at denying the truth when it’s right here in front of him.

“You don’t remember me.”

The wavering eyes still hold his, but the confusion is there. So obvious and clear that Giovanni regrets his question. He looks away, fingers digging even into his palms, desperately needing that bite of pain to take him away. But that slight sting’s nothing to how much his chest hurts, how his heart is knotting itself so tight that it’s squeezing every last drop blood and breath out of his body and replacing those empty spaces with nothing but that deep soul reaching ache. 

“I… I think I do,” comes the soft reply.

His attention snaps back to Cyrus, who slides off his seat so that way he’s opposite of Giovanni and still peering at him, as though trying to fish something deep from the well of his memories. “But it feels like a dream. None of it felt real, but I recognize your face. I don’t understand any of this. Last thing I remember clearly was trying to change the curtains and then… I guess I must have fallen since I woke up in a hospital.”

Morty’s words rise unbidden, the boy’s doubts that it was a ghost haunting his home this entire time. The boy had been right. At least to an extent. Giovanni can’t claim to understand what’s happening either. “You were here the entire time,” Giovanni says with a sigh and falls back, forcing himself to relax. There’ll be blood on his palms now, but what’s a few drops compared to this?

“I think you’re right. I remember that. Distantly.” Cyrus reaches over taking Giovanni’s hand, cold and slender fingers closing over his own much larger ones. “I remember other things too.”

“You’re still just as cold.” Giovanni mumbles, earning himself a snort from Cyrus. He stares into those blue eyes before he shifts forward, pulling Cyrus against his chest. Heart hammering against his ribs as his arms wrap around someone solid, living and breathing. Someone real and not just an apparition or a ghost or a psychic projection haunting his home. His head drops into the space between Cyrus’s shoulder and neck and he smiles when his breath makes the man shiver.

“Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We thank all of you for sticking with us until the end of this fic! From October until February is quite the wait to see how a story will turn out. Hope you enjoyed all our hard work!


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